The Evidence

She found the hair wrapped around the earring back — long, dark, not hers. Their dog, Buster, stared up from his bed as if apologizing for not warning her.

Marcus claimed it came from the padel court. "You know how women throw themselves around after matches," he said, not meeting her eyes. "Must have brushed off someone's sweater."

The pyramid scheme had collapsed six months ago, taking their savings with it. That's when his late meetings started. That's when Buster began waiting by the door for a man who no longer came home sober.

She watched Marcus sleep, his breathing rhythmic and untroubled, and understood the arithmetic of betrayal: some equations only balance when you subtract your own worth from the final sum.

The hair went into the envelope with the bank statements. Buster whined softly, sensing the shift in atmospheric pressure, the way animals always know before the earthquake hits.

"It's okay, buddy," she told the dog, sliding the envelope into her bag. "Mommy's just done."