Page 104 of Sin

That was Jenna, right? Who else would it be?

Laurel. It was Laurel. It’s always Laurel now. That’s the problem.

When I pull into the garage, Jenna’s car is there. I sit in the truck for a moment, staring at it. She wasn’t supposed to be home. Or maybe she was, and I stopped keeping track. Either possibility makes me feel like a bastard because I’m irritated she’s here.

Jenna’s in the kitchen, pouring a glass of wine. She looks up when I walk in.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey.”

That’s us now. Two people who used to say more and now reduced to one-word greetings.

She glances at my coat, my loosened tie, my hair. “Long day?”

“Yes.”

“I can make dinner if you want.”

I should walk toward her. Kiss her cheek. Say the things a husband says when his wife comes home. Instead, I stand too far away and wonder if Laurel is still at the office. If she got home. If she changed out of that skirt. If she is thinking about me.

Jenna sets her glass down. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m just tired.”

“You’re always tired.”

She walks toward me, and I force myself not to step back. Her hand lands on my chest. It should feel familiar. It does not.

“Maybe you need to relax,” she says.

The words slide over me and find nowhere to land. A month ago, maybe I would have leaned into this. Not because I wanted her with any real hunger, but because marriage has habits. Bodies remember routines even when hearts do not.

Now my entire body goes still because all I can think is, That isn’t Laurel’s hand.

Jenna reaches for my tie, loosening it the rest of the way. “It’s been so long, Mason.”

Guilt burns up my throat.

“Jenna.”

She smiles faintly. “What?”

Her fingers move to the buttons of my shirt and I catch her wrist. Her smile fades. For a moment, neither of us moves. Then she looks down at where my hand holds hers.

“Okay,” she says slowly. “Did I do something?”

“No.”

“Then what is this?”

I step back. I’ve faced boardrooms full of hostile investors with less panic than I feel standing in my own kitchen with my wife looking at me like she might finally notice the man in front of her is already gone.

“I’m tired,” I say.

Her face closes a little. “Right.”

“Jenna—”