Emily is in my arms again, sobbing into my shirt. Her fingers clutch the fabric like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go. Her voice is muffled against my chest, but I can hear her words.
“I’m sorry, Henry. I didn’t want to believe it, but I just… I didn’t know what to think.”
And I don’t blame her.
Because when you see something like that—something cruel, painted in bold, permanent ink—it stays with you. It digs deep, planting doubt. And doubt? It spreads like poison. It twists reality until you can’t tell what’s true anymore.
But someone is to blame.
And she’s standing right in front of us.
Claire. My sister.
Her arms are crossed, her face carefully blank. But I see it in her eyes—regret. Not because she’s sorry. Not because she understands the damage she’s done. But because she knows she’s been caught.
Maybe she doesn’t fully understand what she’s done. Maybe she never will.
I take a deep breath and meet her eyes.
“Tell her,”
Claire sighs—actually sighs—like this is some kind of inconvenience for her, like she’s doing me a favor.
And then, finally, she speaks.
How she thought she was doing me a favor. How she wanted to drive Emily away because, in her mind, she believed she was helping me. Because months ago, I had confided in her—I told her I was scared about becoming a father.
“I’m just scared… we didn’t have the best example growing up,” I had said. “I wonder if I’m going to be like him, you know?”
And she took that as an excuse to tear my marriage apart.
Emily listens in silence. Her face shifts from confusion to shock—and then to something that makes my stomach drop.
“You really didn’t cheat, Henry?”
My heart pounds. I don’t hesitate.
“Never,” I say immediately. “Not once, not ever. I love you, Emily. I love our baby. I love our life together. Claire blindsided me with this just like she did you.”
And Claire, my own sister, nearly destroyed my marriage.
—Earlier—
The last thing I expected after leaving the doctor’s office was to have my life completely fall apart.
Then I saw my car.
I stopped in my tracks, my breath catching in my throat. My entire body went cold.
“What the hell is that?” The words barely left my lips.
Then, she spoke.
“Did you…?”
She didn’t even need to finish the question. The accusation was already there, hanging between us.
She didn’t respond. She just stared at the words on the car, then at me.
And I understood why.
“It wasn’t me,” I pleaded. “I swear to you, my love, I have no idea who did this or why.”
Emily exhaled shakily.
Because I knew what she was really saying: If she didn’t write it… who did?
And why?
She wasn’t accusing me outright—not yet—but the doubt was there.
And doubt doesn’t just disappear.
“I need to clear my head,” she cut in, her voice trembling.
She pulled out her phone and dialed her mom.
Just like that.
I stood alone, the spray-painted words still mocking me, burning into my brain.
Instead, I was alone, trying to erase the damage someone had done—not just to my car, but to my marriage.
The words wouldn’t come off.
Because no matter how much she wanted to believe me, someone had already planted that seed of doubt.
And now I had to find out who.
Because I was going to fix this.
