My blood ran cold as I realized the implications. I stared at my wedding band in disbelief. I could barely make out his accusation over my pounding heartbeat.

My words cowered in a whisper. “Is there…photographic evidence?” I swallowed hard and dabbed at a bead of sweat. “I mean, how sure are we?”

“Very sure,” said Hank, silencing his buzzing phone. “Pete… Can I call you Pete? Petey, listen, you don’t want to see these pictures. In all my years of capturing infidels such as yourself, well, let’s just put it this way - my camera couldn’t find your good side.”

I winced, dodging mental images of unflattering betrayal.

“I know this isn’t easy, Petey,” said Hank. He studied his lobster roll and nodded in appreciation before going in for a massive bite. Crumbs congregated along his salt and pepper stubble. He offered me a bite and I politely declined, informing him on my shellfish allergy.

Hank shrugged. “This kind of drama you’ve got goin’,” he said, between chews, “it never leads anywhere good.”

“I’m not an adulterer!” The heat in my voice surprised us both.

Hank pursed his lips and cocked his head. “And let me guess,” he said. “You aren’t usually this hostile, either.”

“I-“

“Let me float a question by you. And I want you to think long and hard before you answer, Petey. What did you have for breakfast last week, Monday?”

“Easy,” I said, brightening. I scanned my mind. Images of breakfast foods whirled past. Oatmeal and bananas? Fruit salad? Or did I skip food entirely and depend on coffee?

“Eggs?”

Hank lifted a furry eyebrow. “You sure? Your wife says you’re a vegan.”

“I’m not sure of anything anymore.” I put my head in my hands and sighed. Maybe my memory loss was worse than I thought. Maybe this stranger really was telling the truth. I wondered if Hank could hear my heartbeat. What else was I up to? And what awaited me when I got home? What kind of pain had my wife been in for the last several weeks? How deeply had my brain injury affected my actions?

Hank’s phone buzzed again. He silenced it while continuing to watch my pinwheeling emotions. “These are serious allegations, Pete,” he said. “Now that your wife suspects you, you don’t have much time. I’m coming to you first, man to man. I’m giving you a chance to clean up your act. Maybe save this marriage. You don’t know how many unions I’ve seen fall apart over wandering eyes. You feel me?”

“I’m not…” I wrung my hands as I searched for an answer. “I… I love Hannah McKenzie. I mean, I know that I’ve not been the same since my accident. And I’ll be the first to admit that my blackouts aren’t infrequent. It’s just that I could never… I WOULD never…”

The steam from lemon tea fogged Hank’s glasses as he listened. He took them off and cleaned them while scanning the restaurant for eavesdroppers. He leaned across the table and spoke out of the side of his mouth. “You should maybe look into speaking with a doctor,” he said. “Kenzie says your brain hasn’t been right for months.” Hank paused, seeming to deliberate. “Look, your wife suspects something but I don’t have to give her hard evidence.”

Our eyebrows raised in unison - his heavy with avarice and mine with incredulity.

“These pictures,” I said, “are you sure it’s really me? I thought only handsome men had affairs.”

“Don’t be so naive. Money makes any man attractive. Even you! Maybe when you black out you become…shall we say, loose, with your finances. The brain is a fickle thing. Mysterious at best. I wouldn’t rule anything out.” Hank took one long last sip of tea and said, “I’m sure you’ve got the bill. You’ve got 8 days till I owe your wife a report. Here’s my number in case you’d like to change my answer. I’m sure I’ll be hearing from you. Oh, and get well, Petey.” Hank tossed me a nod before sliding from the booth.

I was in turmoil on the train ride home. I needed to speak with my wife, but I was unsure of what to say. Would I show my love with flowers? Would that make me look guilty? How much did she know? I pulled Hank’s card from my back pocket and stared in disbelief. I chewed the inside of my cheek in thought.

I looked out at the city and saw walls caked with ads for divorce. The train tumbled by littered streets and two star motels. The sights before me fueled my dread.

I flung open the door to my apartment. “Kenzie!” I called. There was no response. Maybe she had her earbuds in. I searched the apartment for her, scrabbling for a defense. Would my words come to me upon seeing her?

In our bedroom I found a letter addressed with my name in bright red ink. I picked it up and grinned. So, she did remember our big anniversary! She was ready a few days early, even! I was distracted by the sound of birds. I shouldn’t have been able to hear them so clearly. I went to investigate. Finding the living room window open rattled me. We never opened that window. What if Hannah McKenzie was filled with grief and had decided to jump? What if the letter I was holding was her goodbye? I leaned forward as far as I dared, desperate for answers. The sound of my name came from behind. The letter fell from my nerveless fingers.

“I’m just back from the store,” said Hannah McKenzie. “I wasn’t expecting you to be home so soon.”

I offered to help with the groceries in hopes of calming the raging pistons in my chest. Hannah McKenzie shrugged and placed the bags on the kitchen island. She tooled around on her phone as I unloaded.

“Blueberries!” I said, forcing a smile. “These will go great with oatmeal.”

“Sure,” said Hannah McKenzie.

Once I’d nearly finished emptying the bag, I reached in and recoiled. There was a pack of fresh lobster.

“Sweetie, you know I’m allergic to this stuff.”

“But I’m not, Darling. I like to have lobster on special occasions.”

“I guess we’ll be having two separate dinners then?”

She held her silence and took the bags to the recycling. I shook my head and tended to the dirty dishes. Kenzie’s phone buzzed on the ceramic countertop. I peeked down the hall before risking a glance at her Lock Screen. The text read, “You should’ve seen his face, Kenzie. Trust me, he thinks he’s guilty. You bring the lobster and I’ll bring the champagne.”

I clenched my jaw and read the text over and over again. I lightly ran my finger across the sender’s number. Why did it look so familiar? My eyes widened. I reached for my back pocket, hoping to be made a fool. It was a match. A massive pain gripped my chest.

“Peter,” said Hannah McKenzie.

Sagging against the counter, I locked eyes with my wife, who smiled. I fought to breathe but my lungs would not comply. I fell to my knees. What I thought was a shout came out as a whisper. “Quick!” I wheezed, “call 911!”

“Sorry, Dear,” said Hannah McKenzie. “You have my phone.”