Burning Down His Seaside Lie

Ever since his insomnia worsened, a husband takes a few days off each month to stay at an Airbnb along the coast, telling his wife the crashing tide is the only thing that quiets his mind. She never asks questions, until a contractor calls to say the coastal beach house they put on hold two years ago is finished and ready for its final walkthrough — the property her husband swore he had sold off at a loss.

She drives up the coast and knocks on the cedar door. A pregnant woman answers, mistakes her for the interior stylist, and welcomes her in. Inside are the wife's own hand-drawn furniture sketches, the matte-slate cabinets she spent months sourcing, and the rattan swing chair her husband once called cheap. The woman speaks warmly of how attentive he is, how he remodeled the entire layout to suit her taste.

Then he walks in with a bakery box from the patisserie he always refused to wait in line for. The truth surfaces in front of them both: he is married, and he has been building a home for someone else out of his wife's stolen designs.