They were no older than five or six, wide-eyed and innocent. My breath caught as a horrifying thought slammed into me: Oh God. Is this his other family?
Before I could say anything, a teenage boy, maybe 16, stepped forward.
My voice felt shaky. But I had to ask. “My husband. Caleb. He’s been coming here.”
Before the boy could answer, I saw him.
Caleb stepped out of the kitchen, a plate in his hands. When his gaze met mine, the color drained from his face.
“Emily?” His voice was tight.
I searched his face, looking for guilt, for shame, but all I saw was shock.
“Why are you here?” My voice wavered, threatening to break. My throat burned as I spoke. “Every time you work late, you end up at this house. I’ve been watching for weeks. Just tell me the truth. What is going on?”
He exhaled shakily and finally met my gaze.
“Not in front of the kids,” he said quietly. He turned to the teenage boy. “Jake, can you take Mia and Tyler to finish their dinner in the kitchen?”
Once they were gone, Caleb gestured to the living room. “Please, come in.”
I stepped inside, my legs trembling.
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