At exactly 11:47 on Christmas Eve, my husband accidentally sent me a photograph of himself in a hotel bed with his mistress while I was home alone caring for our two feverish babies.

he was stressed.

Perhaps I’d overspent.

But now I wondered why a man buying diamonds for another woman needed to reduce his wife’s diaper money.

The answer was obvious.

It wasn’t about money.

It was about permission.

My phone rang.

Cole.

At 12:58, I watched his name flash.

He’d realized his mistake.

Perhaps the photograph was intended for Sierra, a friend, or someone else.

It didn’t matter.

I ignored the call.

Ten seconds later, a message arrived.

Ignore that photo.

Another followed.

Client sent it. Joke.

Then:

Lauren?

Answer