Chapter 2 - The Camera Above the Glass Door
Ethan had known the camera existed.
He simply had not thought about it.
That was how most disasters happened, he would later realize.
People did not usually plan to ruin their lives.
They simply kept making selfish choices until consequences finally arrived all at once.
At eight that morning, Ethan sat in an empty family consultation room at St. Matthew’s Hospital with his phone pressed to his ear.
His boss, Richard Hale, did not waste time.
“Tell me I’m misunderstanding what security found.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“You’re not.”
A long silence.
“Jesus Christ.”
“I know.”
“No. I don’t think you do.”
Richard’s voice hardened.
“You and Sabrina stayed in the office after hours using executive access credentials.”
“Yes.”
“The footage shows you entering your office together at 9:11.”
Ethan said nothing.
“It shows physical intimacy in a company workspace.”
Ethan rubbed his forehead.
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
Richard almost laughed.
“Because Sabrina is working on the acquisition your team is evaluating.”
Ethan sat straighter.
“What does that have to do with—”
“Everything.”
The Mercer Financial Group was negotiating the purchase of a logistics-software company called Northstar Systems.
Ethan’s operations team had access to confidential cost projections.
Sabrina’s corporate-development team controlled valuation strategy.
Employees in those departments were required to disclose personal relationships because of potential conflicts.
Neither had.
Richard continued.
“You had access to internal reports Sabrina was not supposed to see.”
“I never gave her anything.”
“Then you’ll have no problem with compliance reviewing your devices.”
Ethan’s stomach tightened.
Not because he had intentionally shared secrets.
Because he suddenly remembered all the times Sabrina had used his laptop.
Once to “check an email.”
Once because her battery had died.
Once while he was showering in a hotel room during a business conference.
He felt sick.
“Richard…”
“What?”
“I need to go.”
“Ethan.”
“My wife may deliver prematurely.”
Richard’s tone softened slightly.
“Go.”
Then hardened again.
“But you are suspended effective immediately.”
The call ended.
Ethan remained seated.
When he returned to Grace’s floor, Linda was waiting.
“You have five minutes.”
Ethan looked surprised.
“She’ll see me?”
“She agreed because I told her you keep sitting outside like a homeless dog.”
Ethan almost smiled.
Linda did not.
“Do not mistake this for sympathy.”
He entered.
Grace looked exhausted.
Her dark hair lay loosely over the pillow.
She had no makeup.
No jewelry except her wedding ring.
Seeing it destroyed him.
He sat several feet from the bed.
“Hi.”
Grace stared at the television.
“I have questions.”
“Ask.”
“How long?”
“About two months.”
“How many times?”
Ethan’s throat closed.
“Grace…”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
She finally looked at him.
“That many?”
“No.”
“Then count.”
He stared at his hands.
“Seven.”
Grace’s face changed.
Seven.
Not one mistake.
Not one drunken kiss.
Seven deliberate betrayals.
“Hotels?”
“Twice.”
“Office?”
“Three times.”
Her eyes filled.
“And where else?”
Ethan could barely speak.
“A conference.”
“You already said hotels.”
“Our apartment.”
Silence.
Grace stopped breathing for a moment.
“What?”
Ethan looked broken.
“One afternoon.”
“You brought her into my home?”
“I’m sorry.”
“My home?”
“Grace—”
“My baby’s nursery was down the hall.”
He lowered his head.
She turned away and cried silently.
Ethan wanted to touch her.
He did not dare.
After a long time, Grace asked, “Why?”
He opened his mouth.
Nothing sounded acceptable.
“I felt…”
He stopped.
“Say it.”
“I felt invisible.”
Grace laughed through tears.
“You?”
“I know how that sounds.”
“No, tell me.”
She looked at him.
“You felt invisible while I was carrying your child, packing your lunches, going to prenatal appointments alone because you were ‘working’?”
Ethan had no defense.
“Sabrina made me feel…”
“Wanted?”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Grace nodded slowly.
“I wanted you too.”
That sentence hurt most.
A nurse entered before Ethan could respond.
Grace’s contractions were increasing.
He was asked to leave.
By noon, doctors were concerned.
Grace developed a fever.
The baby’s heart rate became unstable.
Dr. Patel explained the situation.
“We may need to deliver.”
Grace gripped her mother’s hand.
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“It’s too early.”
“I know.”
“Will she survive?”
The doctor did not offer false comfort.
“Babies born at thirty-two weeks often do very well with neonatal care. But we need to act if infection or fetal distress progresses.”
Grace started crying.
Linda kissed her forehead.
“You’re not alone.”
Grace looked toward the door.
For one weak second, she wanted Ethan.
Not because she forgave him.
Because he was the father of the child she was terrified of losing.
She whispered, “Get him.”
Ethan came in immediately.
Grace held out her hand.
He took it.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” she said.
“I know.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“If something happens to her…”
“It won’t.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
He swallowed.
“You’re right.”
He squeezed her hand.
“I’m scared too.”
Two hours later, Grace was taken for an emergency C-section.
Ethan sat beside her head.
She trembled beneath the surgical drape.
Then they heard it.
A tiny cry.
Weak.
But unmistakable.
Grace sobbed.
“Is she okay?”
A nurse lifted the baby briefly.
Small.
Pink.
Furious.
“She’s breathing.”
Grace covered her mouth.
Ethan cried openly.
Their daughter weighed three pounds, fourteen ounces.
They named her Sophie.
She was taken to the neonatal intensive care unit.
Grace did not get to hold her that day.
That grief mingled with everything else.
At midnight, while Grace slept, Ethan stood outside the NICU watching Sophie through glass.
His phone rang.
Sabrina.
He declined.
She called again.
He answered.
“What?”
“You need to talk to me.”
“No.”
“Ethan, this is bigger than us.”
He stared at his daughter.
“There is no us.”
“Stop being dramatic.”
He nearly laughed.
“My wife gave birth eight weeks early after finding us together.”
“I didn’t make that happen.”
“No.”
Ethan’s voice went cold.
“I did.”
Sabrina was silent.
Then she said, “Compliance took my laptop.”
“So?”
“I need to know what you told them.”
“I haven’t told them anything.”
“Good.”
Ethan frowned.
“Why?”
Another silence.
“Sabrina.”
“You need to remember something.”
“What?”
“If they ask whether I accessed your Northstar reports, the answer is no.”
Ethan went still.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Did you access them?”
“Ethan.”
His heart began pounding.
“Did you?”
She whispered, “Not on purpose.”
He turned away from the NICU window.
“What did you do?”
“I emailed myself two files.”
“You what?”
“They were already open.”
“Those files are confidential.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“I needed context.”
“For what?”
“Just don’t say anything.”
Ethan’s face went numb.
“Sabrina.”
“What?”
“Did you sleep with me because of those files?”
She did not answer immediately.
That hesitation was enough.
Ethan stared through the glass at Sophie.
May you like
His entire marriage had collapsed because of an affair.
Now he was beginning to wonder whether even the affair had been real.
