“Can I borrow it?”

Marcus handed it over.

“Absolutely, buddy.”

Caleb held the microphone with both hands.

For a second, he looked very small standing in the middle of that enormous ballroom.

Then he lifted the box.

“I brought you a wedding present, Dad.”

Several guests smiled.

Someone murmured, “Aw.”

Marcus laughed.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

Caleb handed him the package.

Marcus tore through the brown paper and removed the lid.

His expression changed immediately.

“What is this?”

His voice carried through the microphone Caleb was still holding.

Inside the box were photographs.

Dozens of them.

The top picture showed Marcus standing beside Camille outside a restaurant, his hand resting against her waist as they kissed beneath a parking-lot light.

A date was printed in the corner.

Seven months before Marcus had moved out of our house.

Beneath that photograph was another.

And another.

Restaurant receipts.

Travel confirmations.

Screenshots of messages.

Calendar entries.

Marcus flipped through them faster.

Camille came closer.

“Marcus?”

He looked at Caleb.

“Where did you get these?”

Caleb answered without raising his voice.

“Your old account was still connected to the tablet you gave me.”

The entire ballroom seemed to become quieter.

Caleb continued.

“I found a folder that kept syncing.”

Camille picked up one of the photographs.

Her smile disappeared.

“This date can’t be right.”

Marcus reached for it.

“Camille, give me that.”

She moved it away.

“You told me you were already separated.”

Marcus glanced around at the guests.

“We practically were.”

I heard myself speak before I realized I had moved closer.

“You were still living with us.”

Camille looked at me.

I continued.

“That week you two stayed at the hotel in Asheville, Caleb had the flu. Marcus told me he had an overnight client meeting.”

Marcus’s face tightened.

“Rebecca, don’t do this.”

Before I could answer, Caleb lifted the microphone again.

“She didn’t.”

Everyone looked at him.

“I did.”

The Flash Drive

Marcus stepped toward his son.

“Caleb, you don’t understand adult relationships.”

Caleb’s fingers tightened around the microphone.

“Maybe not.”

His voice trembled slightly now.

“But I understand dates.”

No one laughed.

Caleb looked directly at Marcus.

“And I understand that you told me you never lied to Mom.”

Marcus opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

“You said she was the reason you left,” Caleb continued. “But you were already with Camille.”

I placed a hand on Caleb’s shoulder.

He leaned into me only slightly.

Then he reached into the box and removed a small flash drive.

“There’s more.”

Graham Prescott stepped forward.

He had been silent until then.

“More what?”

“Messages and files.”

Marcus moved quickly.

“That’s private property.”

Graham looked at him.

“Then I suppose you should explain why you’re so worried about it.”

Camille took the drive from Caleb and handed it to her father.

One of her cousins brought over a laptop from the event coordinator’s table.

Within minutes, the first files were open.

What they revealed was not simply Marcus’s relationship with Camille.

There were drafts.

Dozens of carefully written drafts.

Marcus had prepared different versions of our separation for different audiences.

In one message to a colleague, I was controlling.

In another to Camille, I had supposedly stopped caring about the marriage years earlier.

To friends, he described himself as a patient husband who had finally reached his limit.

In an unsent draft intended for members of my own family, he described me as unreliable and emotionally unstable.

I stared at the screen.

He had not simply left me.

He had rehearsed the explanation.

Camille read several pages without speaking.

Finally she looked at him.

“You wrote these before you even moved out.”

Marcus rubbed both hands over his face.

“They were notes. I was trying to organize my thoughts.”