He reached for the papers in my hand, but I stepped away from him.
I held up a printed photo of Mark and Sylvia standing outside somewhere, night behind them, his hand low on her back, her face turned up toward him with that private kind of smile that belongs to no one else.
“Get out.”
Dana’s jaw dropped. Mark’s cousin put a hand over his mouth.
I held up the next photo, showing Mark and Sylvia holding hands in a hotel lobby, then the photo of the two of them gazing lovingly at each other in a restaurant, and lastly, the photo of them leaning into each other while sitting in Mark’s car.
“But that’s not all,” I said.
I shook out the first of the printed messages and started reading aloud the late-night jokes, plans to meet, hotel confirmations… it went on and on.
Mark’s voice tightened. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
I shook out the first of the printed messages and started reading aloud.
I rounded on him. “It’s exactly what it looks like.”
He lowered his voice. “Can we not make a scene? You’re turning this into a spectacle.”
Something hot and clean moved through me then.
“By telling our family the truth about you?” I shook my head. “We’re not doing this quietly, Mark.”
“It didn’t mean anything!” Mark held out his hands. “It was just—”
“A betrayal,” I cut him off. “For 14 years, I made sure everything in this house ran perfectly. The food. The holidays. The hosting. Your family. Your comfort.” I gestured to the perfectly set table laden with the food I’d spent days preparing. “I held you up, and this is how you thank me?”
“You’re turning this into a spectacle.”
Mark’s mouth worked, then his gaze narrowed, and he turned to glare at Beatrice.
“How could you do this? I told you to keep quiet, I told you to mind your own business, and let me handle this myself.”
“And I told you to make a decision.”
“I did!” He swept his arms out. “I chose this.”
“You chose to protect yourself by not being honest with your wife.”
Mark flinched.
I turned to Beatrice, and for the first time in 14 years, I felt something warm toward that woman.
“You chose to protect yourself by not being honest with your wife.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“You needed to know,” she said.
Then I turned back to Mark.
“I swear to you, I ended it with her,” he said, “I chose you.”
“Oh? Then who were you texting this morning? Who was making you smile like that?”
He ran his fingers through his hair.
“Don’t bother answering that,” I added. “You remember that prenup your lawyer was so proud of?”
“Then who were you texting this morning?”
A line appeared between his brows. “What about it?”
I lifted the papers. “It voids in cases of infidelity.”
His eyes widened, and he bit his lip. There it was, the real fear.
“You can’t do this,” he said.
