MY HUSBAND LEFT US AT THE AQUARIUM FOR A “WORK EMERGENCY”—THEN OUR SON SAW HIM ON A VIP TOUR WITH ANOTHER FAMILY

I called my mother from a bench beside the aquarium entrance. Evelyn had arrived a few minutes early and was helping the twins check that their postcards were still in the gift-shop bag.

“Can dinner be at your house instead?” I asked Mom. “Evelyn's bringing the kids. Reid isn't coming.”

My mother didn't demand an explanation. “Of course. Is he all right?”

“The kids are. I'll explain later.”

That was the first sentence all afternoon that felt completely true.

Evelyn took one look at my face when I reached them and didn't ask in front of Miles and Mae. She suggested they stop for ice cream on the way to their grandparents' house. Mae wanted chocolate. Miles wanted to know if I was driving behind them.

“Soon,” I said. “I have to speak to someone first.”

“Dad?” he asked.

“An adult. You can tell Grandma all about the turtles while I do.”

Evelyn buckled them into her car. When I saw the brake lights disappear down the garage ramp, I felt both grateful and furious. My sister was taking care of an ordinary Saturday task Reid should have shared with me.

I had no name for the woman across the tank. I also had no idea whether she'd been told the truth about us. I could leave and try to learn it from Reid, but he'd already lied three times in one day. If she knew he had a wife, I would find out. If she didn't, she deserved a chance to hear it from someone who would say it plainly.

I went back inside and sat near the gift shop. At 4:08, Reid's green jacket appeared near a shelf of stuffed penguins. The little girl held a toy shark against her chest while he pointed out other animals. The woman had gone to the photo counter alone.

I waited until Reid and the girl moved farther into the shop.

The woman at the counter was looking through printed pictures. Up close, I saw a tired crease between her eyebrows and a small bandage on one finger. She was a person picking up photographs of a day out with her daughter. I wished desperately that I hadn't learned about her through my son's face.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Were you on the private shark tour with Reid Cole?”

She turned. “Yes.”

“My name is Marin Cole. I'm his wife.”

She glanced toward the shop. “He said you might come by. He said there'd been a misunderstanding.”

Reid had found time to warn her between the shark gallery and the photo counter. I kept my voice low.

“My eight-year-old twins were here with me today. We drove to the aquarium with Reid this morning, from the house where all four of us live.”

Her eyes moved to the three regular tickets I was still holding. One had Mae's purple thumbprint on it from the jellyfish exhibit.

“He said you were separating,” she said.

“He hasn't told me that.”

The woman gave me a long look, then put the pictures facedown. “I'm Beth. My daughter is Sophie. She doesn't know anything about this.”

“Neither do my children. I won't argue in front of yours.” I wrote my number on the back of my parking stub. “You can call me when you're ready. You don't have to decide whose story you believe while you're standing here.”

Beth accepted the number without promising to use it.

Reid saw me as he came out of the shop with Sophie. His face changed before he made it to the counter. He told the little girl to go show Beth the shark she'd chosen, then realized Beth was standing beside me.

“Marin,” he said, carefully. “The kids aren't here, are they?”

“They're with Evelyn.”

“Good. Beth, I told you my wife and I are in the middle of separating. This is exactly why I wanted to explain everything privately.”

“You told her that today?” I asked.

He ignored me. Beth set the photo envelope against her chest so Sophie couldn't see it. The little girl came up beside her and looked from one adult to the next.

Beth took Sophie's hand. “We're going home,” she said. To Reid she added, “You can call later.”

“Beth—”

“Later.”

She guided her daughter toward the exit. Reid took a step as if to follow, then stopped when she looked back. I turned for the opposite doors. I wasn't giving him a scene he could describe to his parents as proof that I'd lost control.

My phone buzzed before I reached the parking garage. It was a message from an unfamiliar number.

This is Beth. Please tell me one thing first.