Chapter 2
Morning came whether I wanted it or not. I lay in bed listening to Kieran's alarm, watching him stretch and yawn like he'd had the most peaceful sleep of his life. My insides felt like someone had taken a paint mixer to them – all the colors of rage, hurt, and disbelief swirling together into something dark and nauseating.
Act normal, I told myself as he headed for the shower. Just get through today.
By the time I made it downstairs, Anya was already in the kitchen with Zoe, warming a bottle at the counter. She looked up with that bright smile I'd always found so reassuring. Now it made my skin crawl.
"Good morning, Harper! How did you sleep?"
I forced myself to meet her eyes, searching for any sign of guilt. Nothing. Just that same sweet, professional expression she wore every day.
"Fine," I managed, moving toward the coffee maker. My hands were shaking as I poured, and coffee splashed onto the white counter. Get it together.
"You okay?" Kieran appeared beside me, hair still damp from the shower, pressing a kiss to my temple like he had every right to. The casual intimacy of it made me want to scream.
"Yeah, just tired." I grabbed a paper towel, scrubbing at the spilled coffee harder than necessary.
"You look exhausted, honey. Did you sleep well? I thought I heard Zoe crying around 2 AM."
The concern in his voice was so convincing. If I hadn't seen what I'd seen, I might've actually believed he cared.
"Yeah, she woke up briefly." I tested the waters carefully. "Did you hear anything else?"
"Nothing at all. I slept like a baby." He said it so easily, pouring his own coffee like we were having any normal morning conversation.
Anya bounced Zoe gently, the baby gurgling contentedly in her arms. "I checked on her too, she went back to sleep quickly."
Of course you did. I watched Anya cradling my daughter, and something twisted in my chest. How could she hold Zoe so tenderly after what she'd been doing in that same room?
But then I really looked at her. Her lips were slightly swollen, darker than usual. Her blonde hair was pulled back with a velvet headband, but I could see the telltale messiness underneath – like someone had run their fingers through it. A lot.
And she was wearing a silk robe I'd never seen before. Champagne-colored, expensive-looking. Way nicer than anything I'd bought during my maternity shopping sprees.
When did she get that?
Kieran moved around the kitchen with his usual efficiency, grabbing toast, checking his phone, acting like the devoted husband and father. But I caught the way his eyes lingered on Anya when he thought I wasn't looking. The way she shifted slightly when he passed behind her, like she was hyperaware of his presence.
This is insane. The rational part of my brain was fighting back. Maybe I'm losing it. Maybe this is postpartum depression making me paranoid. But the evidence was right there in front of me.
I busied myself organizing Zoe's toys, trying to look normal while my heart hammered against my ribs. The morning routine continued around me – Kieran scrolling through emails, Anya feeding Zoe, the coffee maker gurgling. So perfectly domestic.
I should probably find a new nanny, I thought, then immediately felt guilty. But Zoe's so attached to her already. What if I'm wrong? What if I'm just seeing things that aren't there?
God, I was still trying to protect their feelings. Still making excuses. Still being the considerate wife and employer while they were...
I couldn't even finish the thought.
The memory hit me suddenly – three months ago, when we'd interviewed Anya. Kieran had been so thorough, asking about her experience, her references. "We need someone professional and reliable," he'd said afterward. "Someone we can trust completely with Zoe."
I'd been so moved by how seriously he was taking our daughter's care. How lucky I felt to have found the perfect nanny.
Perfect for what, exactly?
"I should head out," Kieran announced, grabbing his laptop bag. "Big presentation today."
He kissed me goodbye – a quick peck that felt like a performance – then headed for the front door. I watched from the kitchen window as he stepped outside, just as Anya appeared on the porch to grab the morning paper.
What a coincidence.
She was still in that silk robe, and the morning breeze made it cling to her curves. She bent to pick up the paper, taking her sweet time about it, and Kieran just happened to be walking past. Their hands brushed as she handed him the paper – totally innocent, if you didn't know better.
But I did know better now.
They stood there talking for way longer than necessary, Kieran's eyes definitely not staying on her face. Anya tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, that universal gesture of flirtation, and laughed at something he said.
My grip on my coffee mug tightened until my knuckles went white. The ceramic felt like it might shatter in my hands.
Finally, Kieran got in his car and drove away. Anya watched him go, then turned back toward the house. For just a second, I could've sworn she looked satisfied about something.
I turned away from the window, hands shaking as I pretended to wipe down the already-clean counter. Zoe was making her happy baby sounds from her bouncy seat, completely oblivious to the drama unfolding around her.
Breathe, I told myself, taking a deep breath that came out shakier than I wanted. Just breathe.
Anya came back inside, tossing the paper onto the counter. "Beautiful morning, isn't it?"
"Lovely," I managed, not trusting my voice for anything more.
She started loading the dishwasher, humming softly to herself. Like she didn't have a care in the world. Like she hadn't been screwing my husband in my daughter's room twelve hours ago.
I stood there arranging and rearranging Zoe's toys, trying to process everything I'd witnessed. The touches, the looks, the timing. The silk robe and the swollen lips and the way Kieran had lied so smoothly about sleeping through the night.
Starting today, I was going to watch everything.