Without missing a beat, Ethan slapped himself across the face. “This is all my fault. I’ve been so wrapped up in work that I haven’t been taking care of you.”
I didn’t have the energy to watch his little performance anymore. Suppressing my nausea, I climbed into the car.
As we drove, I couldn’t help but glance at the backseat over and over again. Images of Ethan and that dancer from the previous night kept flashing through my mind.
Ethan caught me looking and frowned. “Claire, what are you staring at?”
I leaned down and picked up a small, crumpled piece of fabric from the floor. My stomach turned when I realized what it was. Without a word, I flung it into his lap.
“Claire, wait!” Ethan’s voice shot up an octave, panic written all over his face. “It’s not what you think! I lent the car to a friend last night! I didn’t know he’d… do something like that in my car!”
Five years of marriage, and for the first time, I saw just how good Ethan was at lying. It came so naturally like he’d been practicing for years.
I stared at him, my tone icy. “Who’d you lend it to?”
Ethan’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. Flustered, he quickly pulled the car to the side of the road and snatched his phone.