I Caught My Husband In Bed With The Nanny

I cut my Singapore trip short by four days and told no one.

Not my assistant. Not my husband. Not even the driver who usually picked me up at JFK.

I wanted to see Leo's face when I walked through the door. My five-year-old son, who cried every time I packed a suitcase. I had a stuffed tiger in my carry-on for him, and a bottle of Killian's favorite Scotch wrapped in tissue paper.

It was a little past eleven when I let myself into the house. Our house. The one Killian and I picked out together eight years ago, back when he still kissed me in the driveway.

The hall light was off. Leo's door was cracked open.

Our bedroom door was shut.

I heard a laugh behind it. A woman's laugh.

My hand was on the knob before my brain caught up.

I pushed it open.

Killian was in our bed. My husband, Killian Moreau, the man who texted me "Miss you, babe" six hours ago. And under him, her bare legs wrapped around his waist, was Blair Donnelly.

Blair. Leo's part-time nanny. The girl I hired because she was "so sweet with kids."

"Nora!" Killian jerked back so fast he almost fell off the mattress.

Blair grabbed the duvet and yanked it up to her chin. My duvet. The cream one I ordered from Italy.

Nobody said anything for three full seconds.

Then Blair's eyes filled with tears. Right on cue.

"Mrs. Moreau, I—I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I told him no. I told him so many times. He said you wouldn't care. He said you were never here anyway."

I stared at her.

Then I laughed.

I didn't mean to. It just came out of me, sharp and ugly, like something cracking.

"You told him no," I said. "In my bed. Naked. With your legs around him."

Her lip trembled. "You don't understand. He kept pushing—"

"Blair, stop," Killian snapped, pulling on his boxers. "Don't say that."

At least he wasn't letting her lie. For one stupid second, I thought maybe he'd say something real. Something like I'm sorry.

Then small feet pounded down the hallway.

"Mommy? Mommy!"

My heart jumped. I spun around.

Leo ran in wearing his dinosaur pajamas, clutching a fluffy pink bunny I'd never seen before. His hair stuck up in the back. He looked so small.

"Baby," I said, crouching down. "Hi, sweetheart. I'm home early."

He ran right past me.

He climbed onto the bed and threw his arms around Blair's neck.

"Mommy Blair, I heard a loud noise. Can you come read me the bunny story again?"

The floor tilted under me.

"What did you call her?" My voice came out thin.

Leo turned and frowned at me like I'd interrupted cartoons. "Mommy Blair. She said I could."

"Leo." I swallowed. "I'm your mommy."

"But you're always on the airplane." He hugged the bunny tighter. "Blair stays. She sleeps with me when I'm scared and she does the voices. You never do the voices."

Blair stroked his hair. She didn't look at me. But I saw the corner of her mouth. It curved, just a little.

I turned to my husband.

"Killian. Say something."

He ran a hand down his face. When he finally met my eyes, there was no shame there. Only tiredness. Like I was a bill he'd been putting off.

"What do you want me to say, Nora?"

"I want you to explain why my son is calling the nanny 'Mommy.'"

"Because she's been here." He threw his arms out. "She's been here every night. Every school pickup. Every fever. Where were you? London? Tokyo? Some board meeting you couldn't miss?"

"I was working. For this family."

"For yourself," he shot back. "You love that company more than you ever loved us. Blair listens to me. She actually asks how my day was. You know when you last did that?"

My nails bit into my palms. "So this is my fault."

"You pushed me away. I'm not going to stand here and pretend you didn't."

Blair sniffled loudly. "Killian, please don't fight because of me."

"Don't," I said to her. Just that. Quiet.

She flinched. Good.

I looked at Leo one more time. He'd tucked his face into Blair's shoulder.

He didn't reach for me.

I turned around and walked out.

I made it four steps before something caught my eye. The walk-in closet door was open, the light still on.

I stopped.

Half of the rack was mine. My gray suits. My black blazers.

The other half was not.

Pastel dresses. Silk blouses. A row of strappy heels lined up under my shelf like they belonged there. On the vanity sat a velvet jewelry box I didn't own, lid open, pearls spilling out. Her perfume bottle stood next to my moisturizer.

Her toothbrush was in my holder. I could see it through the bathroom door.

This wasn't one night.

She lived here.

She'd moved into my house while I was gone, and everyone in it had let her.

Something inside me went very still. Very cold.

I took out my phone.

I photographed the closet. Her dresses. Her jewelry. Her shoes.

Then I walked back into the bedroom.

Killian's head came up. "What are you doing?"

I raised the phone and took a picture of the bed. Of him with his shirt half on. Of Blair clutching my duvet. Of her bra on the floor. Of her phone on my nightstand.

"Nora, put that down." He lunged forward.

I stepped back and took another one.

"Are you insane? Leo is right there!"

"Then maybe you should've thought about that before you brought her into his house."

Blair burst into fresh sobs. "Why are you doing this to me?"

I didn't answer. I swept the camera across the room once more, slow, making sure I got everything.

Then I left.

I didn't run. I didn't slam the door. I picked up my carry-on from the foyer, the stuffed tiger still inside it, and walked to the car.

Killian shouted my name from the porch. I pulled out of the driveway without looking back.

I made it two miles before my hands started to shake.

I pulled over under a streetlight. My chest felt like someone was standing on it. I scrolled through my contacts, past my assistant, past my mother, past people who would ask too many questions.

I stopped on a name I hadn't called in six years.

Hugo Larkin.

My old friend from law school. The one who told me, the night before my wedding, that Killian wasn't good enough for me. I hadn't spoken to him since.

My thumb hovered.

Then I pressed call.

It rang twice.

"...Nora?" His voice was rough with sleep, then suddenly sharp. "Nora, is that you? It's almost midnight. What's wrong?"

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

"Nora. Talk to me."

I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles went white.

"Hugo," I said, and my voice broke right down the middle. "I need a lawyer. Tonight."

There was a pause on the line.

Then I heard him moving. Keys. A door.

"Where are you?"

I looked down at my phone. At the photos still glowing on the screen.

And at the new text that had just appeared at the top.

It was from Blair.

"You really think you'll win this?"