Under the popcorn was a folded napkin with three words written across it: “Check his phone.” My stomach dropped. I glanced back toward the concession counter, but the girl who had handed me the tub was already helping another customer. The guy I was seeing, Eric, returned with our tickets and smiled like nothing was wrong. During the previews, he left his phone in the cup holder and went to the restroom. I hated myself for doing it, but I unlocked the screen using the code I had watched him type dozens of times.
The first conversation I opened wasn’t with another woman. It was with the concession girl. She had written, “You need to tell her before tonight.” Eric’s reply made my hands shake: “She doesn’t know about Rachel. Keep your mouth shut.” There were photos underneath—Eric with a woman holding a baby. One message called the child “our little man.” Eric had told me repeatedly that he had never been married and didn’t have children.
