Chapter 3 - Shadow on the Screen
Z
The workday passed in a blur of corporate jargon, glowing computer monitors, and the incessant, high-pitched hum of the breast pump in the private lactation room at my office. By the time 5:00 PM rolled around, my brain was entirely fried, but my body refused to rest. I picked up Bradley and Onica from daycare, the toddler babbling happily in the backseat about paper dinosaurs while the infant slept soundly in her car seat. For a brief moment, driving through the quiet suburban streets as dusk settled, I felt a fleeting sense of peace. This was my real life—these two beautiful, innocent human beings who relied on me for everything.
When we arrived home, the house was dark. Usually, even if Carl hadn't cooked dinner or cleaned, at least the living room lights would be on. I carried Onica’s heavy car seat in one hand and held Bradley’s tiny hand with the other, juggling my work briefcase under my arm.
"Daddy?" Bradley called out as we stepped into the hallway. "Daddy, look at my dinosaur!"
Silence greeted us.
I set the bags down and walked into the kitchen. On the counter lay an empty plate with dried pasta sauce, an unwashed fork, and a half-empty glass of soda. The sink was piled high with dirty dishes—dishes I had specifically asked Carl to clean before I left for work that morning.
"Carl?" I called out, my voice tight.
I heard a soft rustle from the home office near the back of the house. I walked down the dim corridor and pushed open the door. Carl was sitting at his computer desk, illuminated only by the light of his monitor. As soon as the door creaked open, his hands moved with frantic, panicked speed, slamming the laptop lid down and grabbing a stack of printed papers off the desk to cover his phone, which sat face-down beside his keyboard.
The sudden, guilty panic in his posture was unmistakable.
"What are you doing?" I asked, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"Jesus, Nina! Can't you knock?" Carl yelled, his voice overly loud, laced with artificial irritation. "I’m working! I’m in the middle of reviewing a major application!"
"It’s dark in here, Carl. And you slammed your computer shut the second I walked in."
"Because you scared me!" he snapped, standing up quickly and pushing his chair back. He stepped between me and the desk, effectively blocking my view of his computer and phone. "I don't need you hovering over me like an overseer, checking up on my every move. I’m an adult!"
"I’m not hovering," I said softly, the blood running cold in my veins. "I just brought our children home. You were supposed to pick up the living room and put the laundry in the dryer."
"I got busy, okay? I’m trying to rebuild my career!" He pushed past me into the hallway, his posture aggressive and stiff. "I’m going to take a shower."
He hurried upstairs, leaving me alone in the dim office.
My feet felt heavy, as if glued to the floorboards. Slowly, driven by an instinct I had suppressed for months, I walked over to the desk. My hand trembled as I reached out toward the laptop. I lifted the screen. The computer was locked, requiring a password I didn't know—a password Carl had changed just two weeks ago under the guise of "security updates."
Then I looked at the desk surface. Beneath the stack of paper Carl had hastily thrown down, a small red light was blinking. It was a secondary phone—a cheap, burner-style smartphone that I had never seen before in my life.
My breath caught in my throat. My hands shook so violently that I almost dropped the small device as I picked it up. The screen lit up instantly. There was no passcode lock on it.
The screen was open to a messaging app—an encrypted application called Signal.
I didn't want to read it. Every fiber of my moral upbringing told me to put the phone down, to respect privacy, to maintain dignity. But survival instinct overruled propriety. I looked at the screen.
The contact name at the top was saved simply as "A."
My eyes scanned the last few messages, sent less than ten minutes ago:
A: Steve is working late tonight. He has a site inspection in the county.
Carl: Perfect. She just got home with the kids, so she'll be busy with bath time. Can you meet at the park near the gym in twenty minutes?
A: I’ll be there. I missed you today. You’re the only person who actually understands how trapped I feel.
Carl: You’re my escape, Alice. I’ll see you soon.
The world seemed to lose all sound and color. The room tilted. The air in my lungs turned to ash.
Alice.
It was Alice.
Not a random woman from the internet, not a fleeting distraction, but my brother-in-law’s wife. The woman who had walked into my kitchen with a casserole dish and a sympathetic smile. The woman Carl had been holding up as the golden standard of beauty and discipline while tearing down my self-worth every single day.
"What are you doing?"
Carl’s voice shattered the silence like breaking glass.
May you like
I turned around slowly. He was standing in the doorway of the office, his towel thrown over his shoulder, his face pale and twisted in a mixture of caught-out terror and blinding fury.
I didn't say a word. I simply held up the cheap burner phone, the screen still glowing bright with his words, his promises, and his betrayal exposed in stark, unassailable light.
