I felt a surge of pure panic.

If he saw the laptop open to the private messages, he would know.

I clicked the log-out button on the dashboard.

The screen reverted to the standard login page.

I closed the laptop lid, leaving it exactly as he had left it.

I rushed to the refrigerator and pulled out a head of garlic and a bunch of parsley.

I needed to look busy.

I needed to look like the obedient, domestic wife he wanted.

I grabbed the heavy chef’s knife from the magnetic strip on the wall.

I placed the garlic on the cutting board directly in front of the spice rack.

I began to peel the cloves, my hands shaking so violently the knife blade clattered against the wood.

The front door unlocked with a heavy, electronic click.

The smart-home speaker chimed.

“Welcome home, Julian.”

His footsteps echoed in the hallway, firm and measured.

He was not running, but there was a deliberate weight to his stride.

He entered the kitchen, carrying a brown paper shopping bag.