I picked it up. I don’t know what I expected. Probably nothing. Probably I thought it was an old phone he’d forgotten about.

I opened the texts. One contact. Saved as “C.”

The texts went back five years. To March 2020. Right when COVID started.

And they were not ambiguous. They were explicit. Dates, times, locations. The Comfort Inn on Airline Highway, room 214, Tuesdays and sometimes Thursdays. $340 on a Visa card I’d never seen. Pet names I won’t repeat. Plans made in the morning, confirmed by noon, executed by evening.

And photos.

I will not describe the photos. I will tell you only that they were sent by “C” and that in one of them — a selfie in a bathroom mirror — “C” was wearing a silk robe. Burgundy. With gold trim. A robe I recognized because I bought it as a Christmas present in 2021.

For my mother.

Claudette. Sixty-three years old. Widowed since 2015. Active at Greater Mount Zion Baptist. Makes the best peach cobbler in East Baton Rouge Parish. My mother.

I sat in Terrence’s truck in my own driveway for forty-five minutes. I did not cry. I did not scream. I read every text. All five years. I scrolled methodically, the way I file charts at work. I noted dates. I noted patterns. Tuesdays. Sometimes Thursdays. Never weekends. Never holidays. They were careful.

I noticed something else. My mother had been helping him. When I’d call to check on her and she’d say, “Oh, I’m just watching my shows, baby,” she was covering for him. When Terrence said he was working late, she’d text me independently: “He’s probably just doing overtime, you know how the refinery is.” They had a system.

My own mother was his alibi.

I put the phone in my purse. I went inside. I made dinner.

Baked chicken, rice, green beans. I set the table. I talked to Kira about her history project. Terrence came home at six. I kissed him on the cheek. I handed him a plate.

I waited.

Sunday dinner. Three days later. My mother came over at one o’clock, same as always. She brought peach cobbler. She hugged me at the door. She smelled like Estée Lauder and peppermint, the same way she’s smelled my entire life.