Chapter 1
"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU, AND WHY ARE YOU WEARING A BATHROBE IN MY HOUSE?"
The man standing in my doorway froze.
His coffee mug stopped halfway to his mouth.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and probably a few years older than me. His slicked-back hair was still damp, and a white bathrobe hung loosely around his body.
I had never seen him before.
But he was standing inside my home.
At nine o'clock on a beautiful Saturday morning.
Wearing a bathrobe.
I looked at the red roses in my hand.
Then I looked back at him.
"Where's my wife?"
The stranger blinked.
"Your wife?"
My stomach dropped.
My name is Marcus Walker.
I'm thirty-three years old, a staff sergeant in the United States Army, and until that morning, I believed I had the happiest marriage in the world.
My wife, Nia, was thirty-one.
We had been married for seven years.
We owned a beautiful suburban home outside Atlanta, and I had spent the last eleven months deployed overseas, counting the days until I could hold her again.
Every night, I looked at her photograph.
Every morning, I checked my phone for her messages.
And every time the deployment felt unbearable, I reminded myself that I was coming home to the woman I loved.
Three days earlier, my return date had changed.
I decided not to tell her.
I wanted to surprise her.
I imagined her opening the front door, screaming my name, and jumping into my arms.
I imagined carrying her across the living room while she laughed.
I imagined breakfast together, followed by an entire day of doing absolutely nothing.
Instead, I was staring at a strange man who looked as though he had just climbed out of my wife's bed.
"Did you hear me?" I demanded.
He lowered his mug.
"Listen, man, I think there's been a misunderstanding."
I stepped closer.
"Then explain it."
He looked behind him.
"Nia?"
My heart stopped.
He knew her name.
Not Mrs. Walker.
Not the woman who owned the house.
Nia.
Like he had said it a thousand times.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the staircase.
Then I heard the voice I had dreamed about for eleven months.
"Daniel, who's at the door?"
A woman appeared at the top of the stairs.
Shoulder-length black hair.
Soft brown skin.
A white bathrobe.
My wife.
Nia.
She descended three steps before noticing me.
Then she stopped so suddenly that she grabbed the railing.
"Marcus?"
For a moment, she looked as though she had seen a ghost.
I tried to smile.
I really did.
But the man in her doorway had already destroyed the homecoming I imagined.
"Surprise," I whispered.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
She didn't run toward me.
She didn't smile.
She didn't ask whether I was hurt or tired.
She looked terrified.
The roses slipped from my fingers.
They landed on the white porch beside my Army boots.
I stared at her.
"Who is he?"
Nia began shaking.
"Marcus, I can explain."
The man turned toward her.
"Nia?"
She looked at him.
He looked at me.
And something changed in his expression.
He wasn't angry anymore.
He was confused.
Deeply confused.
I stepped across the threshold.
"I came home early to surprise my wife."
My voice cracked.
"Now somebody needs to tell me why another man is living in my house."
Nia began crying.
"Please, don't do this."
I stared at her.
"Don't do what?"
"Please, Marcus. Just let me explain."
Daniel slowly placed his coffee mug on the hallway table.
He looked directly at me.
"What's your last name?"
I felt my temper rising.
"Walker."
His face drained.
"Marcus Walker?"
I stared at him.
"That's right."
He took two steps backward.
Then he turned toward Nia.
"You told me Marcus Walker died."
The room went completely silent.
I couldn't breathe.
"What?"
Daniel pointed toward me.
His hand was shaking.
"You told me your husband died overseas."
I looked at Nia.
She covered her face.
"No. No, Daniel, please."
He stared at her.
"You showed me a letter."
My stomach twisted.
"What letter?"
Daniel looked back at me.
"She said the Army notified her that you were killed during a mission."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
For eleven months, I had served my country while counting the days until I could return home.
And my wife had been telling another man I was dead.
I looked at her.
"You told him I was DEAD?"
Nia broke into sobs.
"Marcus, please forgive me."
I could barely hear her.
My ears were ringing.
I remembered our last phone call.
She had told me she loved me.
She had asked when I would return.
She had promised to make my favorite meal.
That conversation happened only five days earlier.
Five days.
While this man was apparently sleeping in my bed.
I looked at Daniel.
"How long have you been here?"
He swallowed.
"Almost five months."
I staggered backward.
Five months.
Nearly half my deployment.
Daniel raised both hands.
"I swear I didn't know you were alive."
I wanted to hate him.
I wanted someone to blame.
But the fear in his eyes looked real.
He was staring at Nia as though he had never known her.
"She told me she was a widow," he continued.
I looked at my wife.
"Answer me."
Nia shook her head.
"I made a mistake."
Daniel laughed bitterly.
"A mistake?"
He looked at her.
"You held a memorial dinner for him!"
My knees almost buckled.
"A what?"
Daniel stared at me.
"She invited friends. She cried. She showed everyone your photograph."
I looked toward the mantel.
Our wedding picture was gone.
In its place stood a framed photograph of Nia and Daniel.
They were smiling together on a beach.
I had never seen the picture.
I had never seen that version of my wife.
I slowly removed my sunglasses.
My hands were trembling.
"Nia, tell me he's lying."
She couldn't look at me.
Then Daniel spoke again.
"Marcus, there's something else."
I turned toward him.
His eyes were filled with tears.
"What else?"
He swallowed.
"She didn't just tell me you were dead."
Nia suddenly shouted.
"Daniel, STOP!"
But he kept looking at me.
"She told me the house was hers because you left everything to her."
I stared at him.
Then he reached toward a drawer beside the staircase.
He removed a thick folder.
"I gave her eighty-five thousand dollars because she said we were buying our future together."
My mouth went dry.
Daniel opened the folder.
His face changed.
Then he looked at me.
"Marcus, I think she used your name to borrow money."
I couldn't speak.
He turned another page.
"And there's a woman named Carla who helped prepare the documents."
Nia lunged toward him.
"Give me that!"
I stepped between them.
"Nobody touches anything."
Daniel slowly handed me the folder.
The first document carried the address of my home.
The second contained a financial agreement.
And the third displayed a signature that looked almost exactly like mine.
Except I had never written it.
I looked up at my wife.
"Who signed my name?"
She backed against the staircase.
I took one step toward her, then stopped myself.
I wasn't going to let my anger turn into something I regretted.
Instead, I looked at the woman I had trusted with my home, my heart, and my future.
"Nia, how much money did you take?"
She began crying harder.
May you like
Then she whispered a sentence that made Daniel grab the wall for support.
"Marcus, I thought you were never coming home."
