“No, nothing like that,” Jade said quickly. “It's about Daniel.”
The sound of my father's name made Mom straighten.
“What about Daniel?”
Another pause followed.
“Could you meet me somewhere? Just the two of us. I think it would be better if I explained everything in person.”
Mom looked toward the kitchen window. Through the glass, she could see the backyard where Dad usually spent his weekends working on the grill or trimming the bushes.
For a moment, she wondered whether Jade had misunderstood something. Perhaps there had been an argument, a rumor, or a misunderstanding involving someone they both knew.
“Is he all right?” Mom asked.
“Yes,” Jade replied. “At least, I think so.”
The uncertainty in her answer was enough to make Mom uneasy.
They agreed to meet at a café a short drive from the neighborhood the following afternoon.
After ending the call, Mom stood in the kitchen for several seconds, holding her phone in one hand.
She did not immediately call Dad.
Instead, she returned to preparing dinner, although she later admitted that she had spent the rest of the evening wondering what Jade wanted to tell her.
She considered several possibilities, none of which made much sense.
Jade might have seen Dad involved in an argument. She might have noticed something suspicious around the house. Perhaps there had been an accident or an issue involving a mutual acquaintance.
Mom tried to dismiss the uncertainty.
After thirty-two years of marriage, she believed she knew her husband.
Whatever Jade had discovered, Mom assumed there would be a reasonable explanation.
She had no idea that the next afternoon she would be looking at photographs that would challenge nearly everything she thought she knew about him.
3. The Meeting at the Café
The café was relatively quiet when Mom arrived the following afternoon.
It was a small place with wooden tables, large windows, and a counter displaying pastries beneath a glass cover. Soft music played in the background, and the smell of freshly ground coffee filled the room.
Jade was already there.
She sat near the window with both hands wrapped around a cup she had barely touched. When Mom approached, Jade stood up quickly and offered an awkward smile.
“Thank you for coming,” she said.
Mom sat opposite her.
“You sounded worried on the phone. What's happened?”
Jade looked down at her coffee.
For a few seconds, she appeared unable to speak. She took a breath, glanced toward the window, and then looked back at Mom.
“I've been going back and forth about whether I should tell you,” she finally said.
Mom's expression became more serious.
“Tell me what?”
Jade reached for her phone.
“I don't want to hurt you, Helen. That's the last thing I want.”
Mom felt a sudden chill.
“Jade, you're frightening me. Just tell me what's going on.”
Jade nodded, although her eyes remained troubled.
“There's something I've seen several times over the past few months. At first, I thought I might be mistaken. Then I thought perhaps there was an innocent explanation. But eventually, I realized I couldn't keep pretending I hadn't seen anything.”
She unlocked her phone and turned the screen toward Mom.
“I think you need to see these.”
The first photograph showed my father standing in a parking structure beside a young woman.
At first, Mom barely understood what she was looking at. She recognized Dad immediately, but the woman beside him was unfamiliar.
They were standing close together.
Then Mom noticed the woman's arms around his shoulders.
Dad was smiling in a way Mom had not seen in a long time.
It was not his usual polite smile for a family photograph or the reserved expression he wore at work. He looked relaxed, almost boyish, with his face turned toward the woman as though the rest of the world had disappeared.
Mom stared at the image.
“Who is she?”
“I don't know her name,” Jade replied. “I've seen them together several times, but I haven't spoken to her.”
Mom did not answer.
Jade swiped to the next photograph.
This one showed Dad sitting across from the same woman at a café. They were leaning toward each other, apparently engaged in an intimate conversation.
A third image showed them walking side by side through a shopping area. The woman's hand rested on his arm.
Another photograph showed them standing outside a building, their faces close together.
Then came the image that made Mom's fingers tighten around the edge of the table.
Dad and the woman were entering my parents' house.
It was taken at night.
The timestamp was visible in the corner.
Mom looked at it carefully.
She recognized the clothes Dad was wearing. She remembered that evening because he had told her he needed to attend a late meeting with a colleague. He had returned home after nine o'clock, kissed her on the cheek, and complained about how exhausting the day had been.
According to the photograph, he had been at home with another woman before returning to the version of his life he shared with Mom.
She looked at Jade.
“When was this taken?”
“Several weeks ago.”
“Were you certain it was my house?”
Jade nodded.
“I'm certain.”
Mom looked at the photograph again.
There was no mistaking the front door, the porch light, or the flowerpots she had arranged beside the entrance. She had chosen those pots herself and spent an entire afternoon deciding where to place them.
The image showed the same entrance where she had welcomed relatives, friends, and neighbors for years.