“I thought if you left the job, Daniel would feel useful again.”
The words hung in the room.
No apology could make them harmless.
But at least the truth was beginning to have shape.
I picked up the folder.
“I’m taking this to my lawyer.”
Daniel looked up sharply.
“You have a lawyer?”
“Yes.”
His face fell.
“You’re divorcing me.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then why?”
“Because I no longer trust what I know.”
That silenced him.
I walked toward the stairs.
Behind me, Daniel said my name.
I stopped.
“I’m sorry.”
I turned.
He looked exhausted.
Lost.
Human.
That was the worst part.
Villains were easier.
Daniel wasn’t a monster.
He was a man who had chosen pride over honesty so many times that eventually he had crossed a line he couldn’t pretend wasn’t there.
“I believe you’re sorry,” I said.
His eyes lifted.
“But I don’t know yet what sorry is worth.”
Then I went upstairs.
I slept in the guest room.
Or tried to.
At 1:17 a.m., my phone vibrated on the nightstand.
A text message.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then I saw my name.
Rachel, I’m sorry to contact you this late. My name is Melissa Carter. I think we need to talk before Daniel tells you the rest.
I sat up.
My pulse quickened.
Another message appeared.
What Daniel told you about Thomas is true. But it’s not the reason he bought this house.
I stared at the screen.
Then a third message came through.
And before you ask, no, Daniel and I are not having an affair.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
I typed:
Then what is he hiding?
The three dots appeared almost instantly.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Then vanished.
Nearly a full minute passed.
