Mark Finally Confessed
Mark came home around seven that evening, carrying takeout bags neither of us would eat.
The second he saw me sitting in the dark with my phone, he froze.
“Emily?”
I stood slowly.
“What was Lauren doing at Ava’s daycare?”
The color drained from his face.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he quietly set the food on the table.
“How do you know about that?” he asked.
“That’s your concern right now?”
“Emily, listen—”
“No. Answer my question truthfully.” My voice cracked. “Why was your coworker with my daughter the morning she died?”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
And then I knew. Not suspected.
Knew.
Because innocent people don’t react like that.
He sat down heavily on the couch.
“We were seeing each other,” he admitted quietly.
The room fell silent.
Five days earlier, we had stood together beside Ava’s tiny white casket while relatives cried around us.
All along, he had been hiding this.
“How long?” I whispered.
“About six months.”
“You brought another woman around our daughter?” I asked, barely able to get the words out.
“Lauren wanted to meet Ava,” he said quickly. “So I brought her along that morning after picking her up from her house. She got coffee for me and a smoothie for Ava from the café near her place.”
A horrible feeling crawled up my spine.
“What kind of smoothie?”
“Strawberry banana.”
My stomach twisted.
“What was in it?”
He looked down.
“I don’t know — strawberries, bananas, honey…”
“And dairy?” I finished for him.
Ava had a severe dairy allergy.
Everyone close to us knew that.
Mark knew that.
“You let our daughter drink dairy,” I whispered.
“I think so, but Lauren didn’t know,” he said quickly. “I never told her about the allergy. She was trying to be kind.”
