I started mentally reviewing the previous few months, searching for clues I might have overlooked.

Ryan sometimes placed his phone facedown during dinner.

Of course he did.

Ella grabbed anything within reach.

He had worked late twice the previous week because they were short-staffed.

He had seemed quieter lately.

Because he was exhausted.

Every completely normal detail suddenly became suspicious once I started looking at it through the wrong lens.

And I hated how easily I could make innocent things seem guilty.

At lunchtime, I opened the refrigerator again.

The lasagna sat there like evidence from a crime scene.

For one angry second, I pulled it out and started walking toward the trash.

Then I stopped.

No.

If there was an innocent explanation, Ryan was going to tell me while looking directly at me.

And if there wasn’t an innocent explanation…

Well, I still wanted to hear whatever he had to say face-to-face.

So I put the dish back.

I didn’t call him.

I didn’t text him.

Anything I wrote at eleven in the morning could not be taken back at six that evening.

By three o’clock, I had convinced myself he was definitely cheating.

Then I decided I was being ridiculous.

Twenty minutes later, I was convinced again.

By five, I was emotionally exhausted.

At 5:20, I heard Ryan’s van pull into the driveway.

I immediately took the lasagna from the refrigerator and placed it directly in the middle of our kitchen table.

Then I turned the lid so the words FOR DADDY faced the doorway.

And I sat down across from it.

Ryan came inside.

“Kel?”

“In here.”

He entered the kitchen, dropped his keys into his hand—

and froze.

His eyes moved from me to the lasagna.

His expression changed.

That did absolutely nothing to calm me down.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “I forgot about the lasagna.”

I crossed my arms.

“Then explain why another woman’s lasagna is sitting in my refrigerator.”

Ryan didn’t even sit down.

“That’s Dave’s.”

I blinked.

“Dave’s?”

“Dave and Michelle’s. That’s Michelle’s dish. Kelly, I swear on the kids.”

I remained silent.

Ryan started explaining much faster.

After the pub, he and another friend had gone back to Dave’s house. They watched the final twenty minutes of the match highlights and had one more drink.

Michelle had been in the kitchen preparing Dave’s lunches for the coming week because he started work before seven in the morning and, according to Ryan, could not be trusted to organize his own meals.

“She had food containers everywhere,” Ryan said. “That’s where the lasagna came from.”

I stared at him.

“Why did you bring another woman’s lasagna home?”

Ryan rubbed the back of his neck.

“Because I thought you’d like it.”

I stared harder.

“What?”

“She made loads of it. I saw it and thought about you.”

Of every explanation I had invented throughout the day, somehow that had never occurred to me.

Ryan continued.

“I was standing there thinking about how you’d been home all evening dealing with the three kids while I was drinking beer.”

“You told me to go out. You didn’t guilt-trip me or complain. And I realized I was about to come home at one in the morning with absolutely nothing for you.”

“So you asked for her lasagna?”

He looked offended.

“Well, that sounds terrible when you say it like that.”

“How else am I supposed to say it?”

“I asked whether she’d let me take some home for you. She gave me the whole tray.”

Ryan pointed toward the dish.

“I was going to wake you up and tell you, but Maisie was in our bed and you were completely asleep. So I put it in the fridge and figured I’d explain in the morning.”

“And then you left for work without opening the refrigerator.”

Ryan winced.

“At ten to six in the morning, yes.”

I looked again at the writing on the lid.

There was still one enormous problem.

“You saw what was written on this and brought it home anyway?”

Ryan frowned.

“What was written on what?”

I studied his face.

He genuinely appeared confused.

Slowly, I pointed.

Ryan leaned closer and read the words.

FOR DADDY.

He closed his eyes.

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

Something inside me shifted.

“You seriously didn’t see that?”

“No.”

“You carried this thing out of Dave’s house, through a parking lot, into our kitchen, and put it inside the refrigerator.”

“Yes.”