PART 2
By the time Julian’s train disappeared behind the snowy horizon, I was already sitting in the back of a taxi heading toward the airport.
My hands were trembling—not from the cold, but from everything I had finally accepted.
For years, I had explained away Julian’s behavior.
He was stressed.
He worked too much.
He was under pressure.
Chloe needed his help.
There was always an excuse.
But there was no excuse for what had happened on that train.
A six-month-pregnant woman shouldn’t have to beg her husband for a seat while he laughed comfortably in first class.
And that wasn’t even the worst thing.
The photographs inside my bag proved it.
Two weeks earlier, I had received an anonymous email containing twenty-three photographs.
Julian.
Chloe.
A hotel room.
A restaurant.
A private apartment.
They weren’t innocent photographs.
They showed them together repeatedly over the previous eight months.
The final photograph had been taken only six days earlier.
Julian was kissing Chloe outside an apartment building.
