The next morning, Grace took one look at my face over breakfast and spoke directly: “You know.”

It wasn’t a question.

It was a statement.

She opened her backpack, pulled out a black spiral notebook, and set it on the kitchen island.

Inside were handwritten dates, times, and locations.

Notes on every instance Derek had claimed to be working late while his car was spotted near boutique hotels, steak houses, or a luxury condo building in River North.

I stared at the pages, horrified.