And then there was Susan. Eleven years ago, Susan’s husband, Mark, died in a car accident on Route Two. She was devastated. She had no children and very little savings.

I could not bear the thought of my sister being alone. I brought her into our family.

Every single Sunday, without fail, Susan came to our house for dinner. I cooked pot roast, mashed potatoes, and fresh green beans. Susan would always bring a lemon meringue pie from the bakery down the street. She was my baby sister. I loved her. I trusted her with everything.

“Grandma?” my grandson’s voice broke the silence in the living room. He looked confused, his eyes darting between the television screen and his father.

My stomach felt incredibly heavy. I felt sick, a slow, hot wave of nausea rising in my throat. I looked at the television screen. The white letters were still there, glowing against the dark blue background of the synced screen interface.

“It’s a mistake,” Richard stammered. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely grip the edge of the television stand. “It’s just a joke. The guys at the yard, they use my phone. They were messing around. You know Jim. He’s a joker.”

“Jim doesn’t ask people to wear blue dresses, Dad,” Clara said. Her voice was incredibly quiet, but it carried across the room like a physical blow. She stood up from the floor, brushing some wrapping paper off her jeans.

I did not look at Richard. I looked down at the phone in my hand. I opened the message thread with “Work – Jim.”

My fingers were trembling, but my mind was suddenly very clear. I scrolled up. The messages went back months. There were photos. Dozens of them. Photos of Susan in her kitchen.

Photos of Susan at a restaurant I had never been to. And then, a photo of Susan wearing a blue silk dress.

It was the exact blue silk dress she had worn to our Thanksgiving dinner last month. She had sat right next to me. She had passed me the gravy boat. She had smiled and told me how lucky I was to have a husband who took such good care of me.

“Mom, let me see,” Clara whispered. She took the phone from my hand. I let her take it. I felt completely numb, like my body was made of wood.

Clara looked at the screen. Her jaw locked. I saw the anger flash in her eyes, and then she looked at her father.

“You told Mom you were in Cleveland last Tuesday,” Clara said to Richard. “You said you had to stay overnight for the regional pipeline conference. But I saw your truck. I drove past Susan’s house on my way home from the grocery store, and your truck was parked in her driveway at ten o’clock at night.”

Richard looked like he wanted to run. He looked at the door, then at the grandchildren, then at me. “Clara, shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re making things up. It was a business meeting. Susan needed help with her furnace.”