GENESIS
"Lily, I'm tired. I want to sleep," Daisy yawned beside me. I turned to her as she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. I bit down on my lip and tried to smile, but worry twisted in my chest.
Footsteps echoed behind us.
I turned around to find Eliana walking toward us, her expression tight with concern.
"Why are you both still out here?" she asked, brows drawn.
I sighed and turned back to the tall gate, standing on my tiptoes to try and peek over the fence.
Still no sign of him.
Kieran hadn't come back last night. And now, the sun had long since set on the next day—and he still wasn't home.
I glanced down at the soft glow of the iPad in Daisy's hands. Leaning in, I saw the time: 9:47 PM.
My heart thudded painfully.
Where was he?
Was he okay?
The guards around the house didn't seem concerned. They stood calm and alert, like nothing was wrong. But how could they be so relaxed? Shouldn't someone be worried? If work was keeping him, he could've at least called. Just once. A text. Anything.
But there was nothing.
I knew I didn't fully understand the kind of work he did—maybe I never would—but still, he should have called.
A warm hand touched my shoulder. "You should come inside, or you'll catch a cold," Eliana said softly. "He'll be back soon. Don't worry too much."
I turned to the gate one last time, scanning the empty street beyond. No headlights. No footsteps. No Kieran.
I nodded slowly.
Eliana slipped her arm around my shoulder and reached for Daisy's hand. The little girl stumbled, drowsy, and I gently scooped her into my arms before she fell. She wrapped her arms around my neck and rested her head on my shoulder. I caught the iPad just before it slipped from her grasp, then adjusted Daisy in my arms.
I looked at the gate again.
Still nothing.
We turned and walked back into the house. Once inside, I told Eliana she could go to bed—that I'd take care of Daisy tonight.
In Daisy's room, I laid her gently on the bed. As soon as her head hit the pillow, her little hands reached out for one of her oversized dolls. She snuggled into it with a sigh, already drifting off. I smiled and stroked her soft curls before quietly backing out of the room.
My feet felt heavier with each step toward our bedroom.
The moment I stepped inside our bedroom and shut the door, the scent of him hit me like a memory.
I slid down the door slowly, sitting on the floor with my back against it. And just like that, all the thoughts I'd been pushing away came rushing in.
Was he mad at me?
Did I do something wrong?
I went over everything that had happened before he left. He didn't seem upset. He even smiled during the video we recorded together. So what happened?
And then the worst thought crept in—one that had been returning again and again.
What if he likes someone else?
What if he was with her now?
My eyes snapped open. I stared at the wall but barely saw it. Tears burned at the corners of my eyes.
He wouldn't. He couldn't.
Are you sure? the voice in my head whispered. You know what he used to be like. The girls told you—how he was always with different women before. So what makes you any different?
No… no. He married me.
That doesn't mean anything, the voice laughed. Has he ever said he loves you?
Those words struck like a knife. My chest tightened, my breath catching.
And then I remembered.
That night.
The one I'd tried so hard to forget.
He hadn't come home, just like now. And when he finally did… there was a lipstick stain on his neck.
Not mine.
The memory hit like ice water.
Could it be…?
I shot up from the floor. No. No, that's not true. There's an explanation.
Then check, the voice whispered again. Melissa and Daisy taught you how to use that website—Google. Isn't that what they called it?
Check what it means when your husband comes home with lipstick on his neck—lipstick you didn't put there.
I didn't move for a moment after reading those words.
What are you waiting for?
It felt like a whisper brushing past my ear. I turned my head slowly—and there she was.
A girl who looked just like me. She was standing beside me, smiling softly, and pointing at the phone lying on the bed.
My fingers trembled as I reached for it. I unlocked the screen, then opened Google.
The glow from the screen felt too bright in the dim room. My hands were shaking as I typed, letter by letter:
"Lipstick on husband's neck meaning."
The search results loaded instantly.
So many things. So many words.
Most of them made no sense. My eyes jumped across the screen, trying to make sense of the mess. Everything felt blurry—too many long, complicated sentences. Too many confusing explanations.
But then one line stopped me cold.
"A sign of cheating."
Cheating.
I knew that word.
The word twisted something deep in my stomach.
I swallowed, then scrolled down, trying to breathe. My chest was rising too fast, and I didn't even realize I was holding my breath.
"Lipstick marks can be a sign of infidelity if the partner cannot explain how it got there."
Infidelity.
I blinked at the word, confused.
I didn't know what it meant.
I stared at it, then slowly tapped and held my finger on it. A small box appeared. I clicked Define, just like Melissa had shown me that one time.
Infidelity: the action or state of being unfaithful to a spouse or partner.
Unfaithful.
I didn't know what that meant either, so I tapped on it too.
Unfaithful: having a sexual or romantic relationship with someone other than your husband or wife.
I froze.
The air disappeared from the room.
My ears rang.
That meant… he kissed someone else? Hugged someone the way he hugs me? Held someone's face the way he holds mine? Was with someone… while I sat here waiting?
My phone slipped from my fingers like it had burned me. It bounced once on the bed, then tumbled to the floor with a soft thud.
I clutched my mouth with both hands.
No. No, no, no...
I squeezed my eyes shut.
He cares about me. He said I'm his. He said he wanted me. Didn't he kiss me before he left? Didn't I hug him tight? I did. I remember I did.
But he didn't call.
He didn't come home.
And he promised—he promised he would always tell me where he was going.
He promised.
My throat felt tight. The collar around my neck felt like it was choking me. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying not to fall apart.
I didn't want to cry. I told myself I wouldn't. I practiced smiling in the mirror, even when I was hurting. I told myself I was stronger now.
But the tears came anyway.
I sank back onto the bed, pulled my knees to my chest, and buried my face in them.
Maybe it's normal. Maybe men like him don'
t always call. Maybe he was just busy. Maybe the lipstick meant something else. Maybe…
The door creaked.
My heart jumped. I looked up so fast my neck almost snapped.
Footsteps.