They say the wife is always the last to know.

Except that Emily Flemming did know and she'd known for more than a week. Dave, her husband, was involved with someone else. Only Dave wasn't just Dave Flemming. He was Pastor Dave Flemming. The thought that her husband loved another woman was intolerable, unthinkable, unbearable. Dave's betrayal was bad enough, but disregarding his moral obligations to his congregation and his God--she could hardly believe it. This shocking secret was completely inconsistent with everything she knew about her husband.

Ever since the night of their anniversary dinner, Emily had carefully guarded what she'd learned. She'd been in the church office, waiting for Dave, and had reached for his suit jacket, which hung on the back of his door. When she draped it over her arm, a diamond earring had fallen out of the pocket. Later she'd discovered the second one in the other pocket. Emily had certainly never owned anything as extravagant as this pair of large, diamond-studded pendant earrings.

In the beginning Emily had assumed the earrings were an anniversary present; however, she quickly realized they couldn't be. For one thing, they weren't in a jeweler's box. But even if they had been, it wasn't possible. Dave could never have afforded diamond earrings on their tight family budget.

Emily should have asked immediately...and hadn't. She'd been afraid of ruining their special evening with her suspicions. But almost at once, other details had begun to add up in her mind. She could no longer ignore the fact that Dave so often worked late, especially since the private hour they'd shared after dinner had gone by the wayside. It might've been her imagination but he seemed to take extra long with his grooming, too.

Her suspicions doubled and tripled. She held them close to her heart, examining them over and over, trying to make sense of her husband's behavior. Whenever she asked where he'd been, Dave's answers were vague. Another warning sign...

"Mommy, when's Daddy coming home?" Mark, the younger of her two sons, asked as he looked up from his plate. He was eight and his dark brown eyes were identical to his father's.

Emily had the same question. "Soon," she said as reassuringly as she could. Two or three times a week, Dave didn't get home until well after dinner. At first she'd made excuses for him to their boys. Now she didn't know what to tell them.

"Dad hardly ever eats with us," Matthew complained, sitting down next to his younger brother.

Dave's lateness had started gradually. He used to make a point of being there for the evening meal. As she stared into space, Emily couldn't help wondering if he was having dinner with some other woman... some other family. She chased away the thought with a determination that stiffened her spine.

For the sake of her children, Emily dragged out her standard excuse. "Your father's been busy at the church."

"Every night?"

Her sons echoed Emily's own dissatisfaction. "It seems so," she returned lightly, pretending all was well as she joined them at the dinner table. They automatically clasped hands and bowed their heads while Emily recited grace. Silently she added a prayer for herself, asking for courage to face whatever the future might hold for her marriage.

"Shouldn't we wait for him at least one night?" Mark said as he reluctantly picked up his fork.

"You two have homework, don't you?" she asked, ignoring his question.

"But Dad--"

"Your father will eat later."

"Will he get home before we go to...