Prologue
Joe Nick wasn’t ready for tonight’s revelation.
He had been in three back-to-back meetings all day, the kind that drained not only energy but also goodwill. By the time he slid into his car that evening, all he craved was silence, a stiff drink, and maybe something half-decent to eat.
The city lights flickered past the tinted windows of his SUV as he maneuvered through the familiar roads that led to his duplex in sugar hill Manhattan. Joe stopped at the red traffic light and while waiting for the green light his mind replayed his day at his diner, his expanded farm and the grand petal hotel Harlem assisting the General manager with staff validations
By the time he walked through his front door, the exhaustion hit him fully. He loosened his tie, tossed it on the nearest chair, and walked straight to the kitchen. The house was dim, quiet. Roselle wasn’t around—or maybe she was in the bedroom already. He wasn’t sure. They had been like that lately: distant, passing shadows of the intimacy they once shared.
He opened the fridge and grabbed a bowl of salmon salad and a few slices of aged cheese. That would do. Nothing fancy. He didn’t even bother warming it up. After eating in silence at the counter, he remembered the CCTV camera in the living room—something he hadn’t checked in nearly 2 months since he bought the house.
Work had simply consumed all his time. But something tonight nudged him toward it. He stood, stretched, and walked over to the black dome camera mounted high on the corner of the living room wall. The memory card was still inside. He removed it, slid it into a card reader, and inserted it into his laptop. The screen flickered. Folders opened. Files loaded.
The first footage played.
It showed Roselle moving in and out of his living room: sitting on the couch, watching TV, dancing a little when she thought no one was watching. Joe chuckled. She had that carefree energy that always reminded him of better times. She looked peaceful. Serene. As the video played, a soft smile curved on his lips. For the first time today, he felt his shoulders ease.
He walked over to the bar tucked in the corner of the room and poured himself some Jameson into a crystal glass, the amber liquid catching the soft light. He returned to the sofa, sipping slowly, watching the days roll by on screen. He skipped some sections—more of Roselle walking around, talking on the phone, lounging with a book. Nothing unusual. Until something made him pause.
His finger froze on the touchpad. The screen changed. Joe leaned in.
Roselle was in the living room again, but this time, she wasn’t alone.
A man stood opposite her. Latino, tall, body built, dark hair, wearing a black silk shirt. Joe narrowed his eyes. He didn’t recognize him. The stranger was saying something—his gestures pleading, his tone desperate even though the camera had no audio.
Roselle stood stiff, her arms crossed, her head shaking slowly. She looked angry. Hurt, maybe. The man reached out, trying to touch her hand or shoulder—Joe couldn’t tell—but Roselle stepped back, sharply, and gestured firmly, as if telling him to leave.
Joe sat up straight.
“What the hell…” he muttered, his voice low and tense. The whiskey glass trembled slightly in his hand.
He watched as the man hesitated a second longer, then turned and walked out the front door. Roselle collapsed onto the couch immediately after, rubbing her face with both hands.
Joe hit pause.
The room around him seemed to fall into silence. The distant hum of the AC was suddenly deafening. He marked the footage, downloaded it, and saved it into a new folder on his laptop, labelling it: “wtf”.
For a moment, he just sat there, the now half-full glass in his hand forgotten. Then he downed the rest in one gulp, feeling the familiar burn travel down his throat. It did nothing to soothe the churning in his stomach.
He stood and looked around the living room—everything in its place, just like always. But something had shifted. Something had cracked.
He turned off the laptop, left it on the table, and quietly ascended the staircase. The master bedroom door was ajar. Roselle lay under the soft cream duvet, fast asleep, her face turned toward the window, lips slightly parted.
She looked beautiful—too beautiful for this moment. He stood there for a second, taking in her peaceful expression, wondering how she could sleep so easily when that man a stranger—whoever the hell he was—had been in the living room down stairs.
Joe undressed, went into the bathroom, and turned on the shower. Hot water poured over his tense shoulders as he leaned his forehead against the tile wall. His mind raced. Who was that man? How had he entered his home? Had Roselle given him access? Was it an ex? A friend? A mistake?
His instincts were already screaming answers he didn’t want to acknowledge. Still, he needed to hear them from her. He needed to know.
After a long shower, he dried off, pulled on a pair of boxers, and stepped back into the room. Roselle hadn’t moved. Her breathing was steady. Calm.
Joe sat on the edge of the bed, trying to settle in. He wanted to lay beside her, wrap an arm around her waist, maybe just pretend nothing had changed. But he couldn’t. The footage replayed in his mind on a loop, torturing him with questions and blurred details.
No. Not tonight.
He stood up quietly, grabbed a throw pillow from the armchair in the corner, and walked out.
Downstairs, he made his way to the guest room—a space that had barely been used since Roselle moved in. It smelled faintly of lavender and disuse. He slid under the covers and stared at the ceiling.
His mind wouldn’t stop.
Who was he to her?
Why had she never said anything?
How long had she been keeping this from him?
Joe turned onto his side, jaw clenched, eyes burning from too much thinking and too little rest. The silence, once comforting, now felt heavy. He reached for his phone on the bedside table, stared at the screen, and then put it down again.
He needed to talk to her. But not tonight.
Tonight, he needed to breathe.
As he lay down there his mind travelled fast very fast to the first time it all began. How he met Roselle.
