At 34 Weeks Pregnant, I Found My Husband Kissing Her in Our Baby's Nursery novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Four Nights on Camera

Becky takes Maisie's blanket back, and at Tamara's she shows Russell and Virginia the nursery clips of four night visits; on Kelsey's website her private bedtime story is credited to Kelsey.

"Russell gave it to me," Kelsey said. "He said you couldn't stand to look at it."

I pulled the blanket out of her tote bag, and she let it come.

It still smelled faintly of cedar.

"He asked me to keep it safe," she said. "I was going to tell you when the time was right."

"Get off my porch."

"Becky, I know you're hurt, but I've been so careful with it. I've held it every night."

Tamara came up beside me with her keys in one hand.

"She said get off the porch," Tamara said. "That's twice."

Kelsey wiped her face, picked up her camera bag and walked down the steps.

She did not hurry, and she did not look back at the house.

Tamara lives twelve minutes away in a brick duplex with two cats and a spare room she calls the museum of bad decisions.

She put me in the armchair with the blanket in my lap and a mug of ginger tea, and she shooed the orange cat off my feet.

"Don't think," she said. "Just hold the thing."

I held the blanket.

My son kicked hard, twice, under my ribs.

"I know, buddy," I said.

At eight o'clock the doorbell rang, and Tamara went to the window.

"It's your husband and your mother-in-law," she said. "Do you want me to say you died?"

"Let them in."

"Becky."

"I want to hear what he says when it's quiet."

Russell came in first, in a clean shirt, holding a bouquet of white roses he must have bought on the way.

Virginia followed him with her purse held in front of her.

"Sweetheart," Russell said, and he knelt by the armchair. "I have been out of my mind. Let me say one thing, and then you can say anything you want."

"Say it."

"It was nothing. It was a stupid, tired, one-time thing, and it's over. Kelsey means nothing to me. She's a work friend who got too close."

"A one-time thing," I said.

"One time. I swear on our son."

"Kelsey told thirty-eight people it was a back problem an hour ago."

He didn't blink.

"We were panicking. We'd have said anything. I love you, Becky. Come home and we'll fix this together. Whatever you need, I've got you."

Virginia put her hand on the back of my chair.

"A woman in your condition belongs in her own house," she said. "You'll upset the baby, and you'll have nowhere to bring him. The nursery is finished, Becky. You picked every color."

"Virginia, did you hire Kelsey, or did Russell?"

"I hired her, because she's the best in the county. I'm sure she regrets her lapse as much as he does."

She said it to the wall above my head.

I put my mug on the side table and took my phone out of my pocket.

"How did she get into the house, Russell?"

"I gave her a key for the shoot."

"For one shoot."

"She needed to set up early. It's not a crime to give your photographer a key."

I opened the nursery camera app.

I had put the camera in the nursery myself in August, so I could watch the empty crib on my lunch break.

Russell had turned off its notifications in September, because the pings kept waking me.

I had thanked him for that.

I turned the screen toward him.

There was a list of motion clips, with dates.

September 3rd, 10:41 p.m.

September 11th, 11:15 p.m.

September 19th, 10:52 p.m.

September 24th, 11:30 p.m.

I tapped the first one and set the phone on the arm of the chair.

On the grainy night screen, a woman let herself in with a key and crossed the nursery to the rocking chair.

She sat down.

A moment later a man came in behind her, loosening his tie, and shut the door.

Nobody in the room said anything.

Virginia looked at the roses, and she looked at the carpet, and she did not look surprised.

Russell's face went smooth.

"That's the only time I've ever..."

"There are four," I said.

"Becky, give me the phone. You're upset, and you can't make decisions right now. Give it to me, and we'll talk in the morning."

He reached for it.

Tamara stepped between us and picked the phone up off the chair arm before he could.

"Nope," she said. "My house. My phone rule."

"It's her phone."

"Then you should have asked nicer."

Russell stood up slowly and straightened his shirt.

"I'm trying to be patient. You're alone and you're eight months pregnant and you're listening to a woman who thinks a babysitter is a threat."

"Go home, Russell," I said.

"This is not over."

"It's over tonight."

Virginia took his arm, and she didn't say goodnight.

At the door Russell turned and set the white roses on the table by the shoe rack, very gently.

Then they were gone, and Tamara locked the dead bolt and slid the chain.

"Four times," she said.

"Four that were on camera."

"That's my girl. Always the one who reads the fine print."

I sat back down and the baby kicked again.

My hands had stopped shaking.

I opened my browser and typed in the name of the woman who had worn my robe.

Her website came up in soft grey and gold.

Moon Boat Studio, with a photograph of a hospital bassinet and a pair of tiny hands.

Under it was a line of white script I had never seen on any screen.

The Moon Boat, a story for the babies we lose, by Kelsey Amsden.

I had written those words in a green notebook at two in the morning, for a fourteen-month-old girl who liked boats.

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