hen my best friend’s divorce left her with nowhere to go, I opened my home to her without a second thought. My husband wasn’t thrilled, but he trusted me, and I trusted her. For a while, everything was fine. Then she started asking him questions she never seemed interested in asking me.
A month after I invited my newly divorced best friend to stay with us, a motion alert from my living room made me wonder whether I’d just made the biggest mistake of my marriage.
Her divorce had turned ugly.
When Cassidy called me crying from a grocery store parking lot, I didn’t hesitate.
“Come stay with us,” I said.
She went quiet.
“Are you serious?”
“Of course.”
“How long is ‘until she gets back on her feet’?”
Her divorce had turned ugly. The house she’d shared with her husband had been his before they married, and now Cassidy had nowhere affordable to go.
Cassidy had been my friend since college. I couldn’t picture telling her to figure it out alone.
Reid was less enthusiastic.
“How long is ‘until she gets back on her feet’?” he asked that night.
“It’s just temporary.”
“A month. Maybe two.”
He rubbed his face.
“I like Cassidy. I just like living with my wife more.”
I laughed and kissed him.
“It’s just temporary.”
For the first two weeks, it was fine.
“Temporary,” he repeated.
For the first two weeks, it was fine.
Better than fine, honestly.
Cassidy cooked twice, bought groceries without being asked, and spent most evenings upstairs on job boards or talking to her lawyer. Reid worked from home three days a week, but they mostly stayed out of each other’s way.
Then Cassidy started dating again.
Even then, I noticed Reid watching the stairs after she disappeared, as if measuring how much our routines had changed.
Then Cassidy started dating again.
The first time, she came downstairs in a green dress and stopped in the doorway while Reid and I were watching TV.
“Okay,” she said. “I need a man’s opinion.”
Reid looked at me.
Cassidy turned in a circle.
I grinned. “Apparently my opinion has been demoted.”
Cassidy turned in a circle.
“Too much?”
Reid shrugged. “Looks fine.”
“Fine?” she said. “That’s brutal.”
I didn’t think about it again.
“It means you look fine.”
She laughed, grabbed her purse, and left.
I didn’t think about it again.
At first.
Over the next week, I started noticing little things. If I told a story, Cassidy watched Reid for his reaction. If he made a joke, she laughed harder than anyone else. If he got up, she somehow found a reason to get up too.
“Does Cassidy seem weird to you?”
It wasn’t enough to accuse her of anything. It was enough to bother me.
That night, I asked Reid, “Does Cassidy seem weird to you?”
He kept brushing his teeth.
“Weird how?”
“I don’t know. Like she suddenly needs your opinion on everything.”
“So I’m not imagining it?”
He rinsed his mouth.
“I’ve noticed.”
I looked at him.
“So I’m not imagining it?”
He turned around.
Reid never flirted back. He never lingered with her.
“Maya, I’m not interested in Cassidy.”
“I know.”
“Okay.”
“I know,” I repeated.
And I did.
Then I came home early one afternoon and heard Cassidy laughing upstairs.
Reid never flirted back. He never lingered with her. If anything, he had become more reserved.
I told myself that should have been enough.
I told myself discomfort wasn’t evidence. Friendship survived awkward phases, and marriage was supposed to survive irrational flashes of jealousy.
Then I came home early one afternoon and heard Cassidy laughing upstairs.
There was an edge in his voice I hadn’t heard before.
Reid’s voice followed.
“Cass, I really need to finish this.”
“I know. One second.”
There was an edge in his voice I hadn’t heard before.
I walked up.
Reid gave me a tired look.
She was leaning against his office doorframe.
“Hey,” I said.
Cassidy straightened.
“You’re home early.”
“Apparently.”
“I was just asking if men notice when women change perfume.”
Reid gave me a tired look.
Cassidy smiled.
“I was just asking if men notice when women change perfume.”
I stared at her.
“Do they?”
Reid looked back at his computer.
Reid answered before she could.
“I told her I don’t.”
Cassidy laughed.
“See? Impossible.”
She still didn’t leave.
She seemed to suppress annoyance by broadening her smile.
Reid looked back at his computer.
“Cassidy. I need to work.”
He didn’t sound angry, he sincerely sounded tired and not in the mood to entertain this anymore.
She seemed to suppress annoyance by broadening her smile.
Then she pushed herself off the doorframe.
That should have reassured me.
“Fine. I’m going.”
She brushed past me.
That should have reassured me. Instead, it made something worse click into place.
Reid had noticed.
He had set a boundary.
A few days later, my mother called.
And Cassidy had needed him to set it twice.
A few days later, my mother called. She had a minor procedure coming up and asked if I could stay with her for a few days afterward. She lived three hours away.
I almost said no, and the reason embarrassed me.
Reid was my husband. Cassidy was my friend. I hated that leaving them under the same roof made me uncomfortable.
Cassidy was at the table scrolling through her phone.
“You should go,” Reid said when I mentioned Mom.
“What about work?”
“I’m remote Thursday and Friday.”
Cassidy was at the table scrolling through her phone.
“I have a date Friday anyway,” she said. “You two don’t have to babysit me.”
Two nights before I left, Cassidy came downstairs wearing pajamas and carrying a bottle of wine.
I forced a smile.
“Great.”
Two nights before I left, Cassidy came downstairs wearing pajamas and carrying a bottle of wine.
“Movie night?” she asked.
Reid was on the couch beside me.
“You’ve gotten boring.”
“I’m going to bed,” he said.
Cassidy frowned.
“It’s nine thirty.”
“I have a call tomorrow early.”
She looked at me, then back at him.
He kissed my forehead and went upstairs.
“You’ve gotten boring.”
Reid stood.
“Getting older will do that.”
He kissed my forehead and went upstairs.
Cassidy watched him leave.
“No, I mean lucky. Reid is solid. My ex never made me feel steady.”
Then she poured a glass.
“You’re lucky,” she said.
I smiled. “I know.”
“No, I mean lucky. Reid is solid. My ex never made me feel steady.”
I heard something underneath the words.
Thursday morning, I drove to my mother’s house.
“You’ll find someone better.”
She glanced toward the stairs.
“Maybe all the good ones are taken.”
This time, I didn’t laugh.
Thursday morning, I drove to my mother’s house.
Living room: movement detected.
By Friday evening, Mom was asleep on the couch, and I was reading beside her when my phone buzzed.
Living room: movement detected.
I almost ignored it.
Our security camera faced the front entry and caught part of the living room. We’d installed it after several package thefts, and most alerts were nothing more than one of us crossing its field of view.
At first, I thought it was all innocent, and I almost put down my phone.
Then another alert came.
I opened the live feed.
At first, I thought it was all innocent, and I almost put down my phone.
Cassidy stood in the living room wearing a fitted black dress.
For half a second, nothing seemed wrong.
The back of the dress was completely unzipped.
Then she turned.
The back of the dress was completely unzipped.
Reid stood behind her.
I stopped breathing.
Cassidy swept her hair over one shoulder and pointed at the zipper.
He stepped closer.
Even through the camera, I could see Reid’s face tighten.
He stepped closer.
My stomach dropped.
He took the zipper between two fingers and pulled it slowly up her back.
I felt heat rush into my face.
Cassidy turned toward him but didn’t step away.
Every stupid moment I had dismissed came back at once.
The questions.
The laughing.
The office doorway.
Cassidy turned toward him but didn’t step away.
He walked to the coffee table, picked up a white envelope, and held it out.
Reid did.
