The Note Her New Husband Was Never Meant to Read

She came out of the bathroom in her ivory slip and stopped cold.
Colin sat on the edge of the bed with a folded page in his hands, one she had kept hidden for three years.
Her overnight bag lay open beside him, the little paperback she'd tucked it inside tipped on its spine.
Two hours ago they had said their vows.
At the reception she had lifted her glass to him and promised, "No secrets between us from tonight on."
He was reading it again. She could tell by the way his lips moved.
"Colin."
He turned the page toward the lamp and read it out loud, slow, like he wanted her to hear every word.
"I told the guard you were already through. I'll take the write-up. Don't be late again."
The rain ticked against the ninth-floor window.
"That's your handwriting," he said.
"Where did you get that."
"It fell out when I picked up your book." He finally looked at her. "I wasn't snooping. It just fell out."
She crossed the room and reached for it.
He lifted his hand so the note stayed out of reach.
"Colin, give it to me."
"Not until you tell me what it is."
"It's old. It's nothing."
"People don't keep nothing for three years." His voice dropped, the way it did when he was trying not to raise it. "They keep it folded up in a book they bring on their honeymoon."
"Please."
"'I'll take the write-up.'" He said it back to her like a question. "You took the blame for somebody. At a job I never heard about."
"It was before I met you."
"'Don't be late again.'" He stood. "That's not how you talk to a stranger, Thea."
She felt the cold of the floor through her bare feet.
"Give me the note and come to bed," she said. "I'll explain in the morning."
"No."
The word landed flat.
"You lied for him. You kept this." He held the page up between them, the lamp shining through the worn crease. "Whoever he is, you still have this note the night you married me."
"It isn't what you think."
"Then tell me what it is."
She opened her mouth and nothing came out, because the truth had a name, and the name was his.
"I can't. Not tonight."
"Can't, or won't."
"I love you. That part is true, I swear it's true."
"Then this should be easy." He took a step closer, the note still raised. "Who were you writing to? Who's late? Who do you cover for?"
"Colin, I-"
"Stop. Who is he?"