Chapter 9 - The Lemon Apron
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I had spent an hour frantically searching for that specific lemon apron six months earlier. Andrew had casually told me that it must have accidentally been packed away in a box of household items we had donated to charity.
The remaining photos in the envelope documented a clear, undeniable timeline of betrayal. They showed the woman's car parked overnight in the cabin's driveway. They showed the two of them carrying bags of groceries into the house together. One particularly clear shot showed Andrew opening a bottle of expensive wine on the porch, laughing effortlessly.
The digital timestamps printed in the corners of the photos spanned a period of seven long months.
I processed the damning evidence with a strange, detached professional coldness. Seven months. Countless stolen weekends. One timestamp even matched a Tuesday when Andrew had explicitly told me he was attending a mandatory regional sales conference in Albany.
The blue lemon apron. The sudden need for "replacement curtains" that he claimed rowdy renters had ruined. A pair of unfamiliar women's sandals I had once noticed tucked near the cabin door, which he brushed off as belonging to the cleaning service.
"When exactly did you take these pictures, Bethany?" I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm.
"A few of them are screenshots from my exterior security cameras," Bethany explained apologetically. "I took the others with my phone after I realized he kept bringing the same woman up there, week after week."
"Why are you contacting me right now?"
Bethany looked deeply embarrassed.
"Honestly, at first, I just assumed you two were legally separated. He actively introduced her to the neighbors as his new partner. But last weekend, a package addressed to you was accidentally delivered to my porch. When I walked over to hand it to him, he looked completely panicked. I Googled your name when I got home, and I saw a public newsletter from your medical clinic mentioning that today was your birthday."
Lorraine leaned heavily over my shoulder. She had been quietly analyzing the photographs in my hand.
Then, she uttered the sentence that permanently destroyed any lingering shred of doubt I had regarding her complicity.
May you like
"Well, of course I knew about Vanessa," Lorraine scoffed dismissively. "Andrew is my son. If he is seeking comfort in another woman's arms, he certainly must have a valid reason."
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