Chapter 2

2.

Oak tree.

Common in the American South. Thrives in heat and humidity. An evergreen, often draped in Spanish moss.

I opened another tab and searched for information on Mark's location, the Prudhoe Bay oil field.

It's within the Arctic Circle. A polar tundra climate. Besides low-lying shrubs and lichen, there are absolutely no tall trees.

There is no way a Southern oak tree that needs a warm, humid climate could grow there.

My phone buzzed again.

It was a photo from Mark.

"See? A blizzard is starting outside. It's freezing. No way anything could grow leaves."

The photo was blurry, seemingly taken through a frosted window.

Outside was a wall of white, nothing was visible.

But my eyes caught one small detail.

On the snow, the blurry shadow of a streetlamp was stretched long, pointing due west.

That meant the sun was in the east.

It was morning.

But we were calling at 8 PM Central Time, which would be 5 PM his time in Alaska.

The sun at 5 PM would never be in the east.

One lie requires a thousand more to cover it up.

Right now, he was at the center of a giant web woven from those lies.

And I, who had once been his most loyal audience, was now the only one who saw the strings on the puppet.

My stomach churned.

I gripped the desk and ran to the master bathroom, but I couldn't throw up.

In the mirror, my face was as white as a sheet.

The face Mark used to praise as "the sharpest face in Chicago PR" was now just a mask of horror and confusion.

We've been married for seven years. We went from having nothing to buying this house with a yard in the suburbs.

He was gentle, thoughtful, a family man. The perfect suburban husband.

I was his "rock-solid support," and he was our family's "hero fighting for the mortgage."

For these two hundred days, I've been raising our son alone, managing the household, dealing with his parents' occasional "concerns," and handling all his bills and taxes back here.

I've been living like a single mother, keeping our home running perfectly.

All so he could work without worry and come home safe.

But now, this oak tree that grew leaves out of nowhere was a vicious metaphor, telling me that everything I believed in might just be a carefully staged reality show.

And I was the ridiculous star, the one left completely in the dark.

No.

I will not fall apart.

I want the truth.