After she fell asleep, I went downstairs to the kitchen. I set the table for two. I placed the chipped ceramic salt shaker in the exact center. At 10 PM, the front door clicked open. Mark walked in. He looked tired, carrying his gray metal toolbox. He set it down by the door with a heavy sigh.
As he walked past me, I caught the scent. It wasn’t pipe grease. It was her expensive lavender body wash. “How was the sink?” I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm. “The same,” he said, rubbing his neck. “The trap is rusting out. I’ll have to go back next week to finish it.”
I didn’t answer. I just unlocked my phone, opened the gallery, and slid the device across the wooden table. It slid right next to the salt shaker. Mark looked down. His eyes widened. The color drained from his face so fast he looked green. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
“Sarah, I can explain,” he stammered, his hands shaking as he touched the screen. “There’s nothing to explain, Mark,” I said. “I saw you. I was standing in the yard.” He looked up, his eyes wide with panic. And that is when he dropped his pathetic defense. “Karen came to me first,” he whispered. “Three years ago. She found out something about you. She said if I didn’t do what she wanted, she’d destroy your life.” I stared at him, my brow furrowing. “What are you talking about?” “She found the old medical files,” Mark said, his voice desperate. He was leaning forward, trying to grab my hand, but I pulled away. “From Toledo General. From when we first got married. The ones about your stay in the psychiatric ward after Lilly was born. She said she’d send them to the school board. You’d lose your job at the school, Sarah. And she said she’d tell Lilly you were a monster.” I looked at him, and for a second, I couldn’t breathe. Not because of the secret. But because of his absolute stupidity. When Lilly was born, I suffered from severe postpartum depression. It was the darkest period of my life. I had spent two weeks in a specialized clinic to get help. I had never hidden this. It was a medical crisis, not a crime. “Mark,” I said quietly, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “The school district did a full medical background check on me when I was hired ten years ago. They have my complete file. They don’t care about a postpartum depression stay from nine years ago. It’s legally protected health information.” He blinked, confused. “And as for Lilly,” I continued, “I sat down with her last summer. I told her that after she was born, Mommy’s brain got sick, and some nice doctors helped me get better. She gave me a hug and asked if she could have a cookie. She already knows.” Mark’s jaw went completely slack. He sat there, staring at me, the realization finally hitting him. The weapon Karen had been using to “blackmail” him was completely useless.
