Together, they sounded ridiculous.
Even stranger, after seven months of dating, Mom had never been invited inside his house.
Emma had also noticed twice that he drove west after dinner when he supposedly lived twenty-five minutes east.
We started wondering whether Mark had another woman—or even another family.
Mom refused to believe it.
Then, during her birthday dinner, Mark checked his watch just as she brought out the apple pie she’d made especially for him.
7:56.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I have to go.”
Mom’s smile disappeared.
“Can’t you stay ten minutes? It’s my birthday.”
“I really can’t.”
He kissed her cheek, grabbed his briefcase, and hurried outside.
Emma watched him through the window.
A moment later, she mumbled something about needing to run out and disappeared too.
Nearly forty-five minutes passed.
Then our front door burst open.
Emma stood there, crying.
And clutched against her chest was Mark’s leather briefcase.
“Emma, where did you get THAT?”
She shook her head.
“Don’t ask how I got it. You need to see what he hides in here… and why he never stays past 8:00.”
She put the briefcase on the table and opened it.
Mom looked inside.
