Not what I feared.
What I knew.
The late-night calls. The private dinners. The afternoons Ethan claimed he was helping Vanessa with Noah, even when Noah was with me.
David listened without interrupting.
Finally, he said, “She’s told me she and Ethan only talk about parenting.”
“That’s what Ethan tells me.”
“Are you accusing them of having an affair?”
I looked toward the window.
“I don’t know what they’re doing, David. I hoped you might.”
He exhaled slowly.
“Vanessa and I have been having problems. That’s true. We started marriage counseling because I’ve been traveling too much, and she says she feels alone.”
“I’m sorry.”
“But we haven’t separated. We haven’t agreed to divorce. We had dinner together last Sunday.”
I pressed my fingers against the edge of the counter.
“Ethan told me you moved out.”
“He told you what?”
“About a month ago.”
David was quiet.
Then he asked, “Has Ethan ever been to our house recently?”
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“Because if he had, he’d know I still live here.”
I glanced toward the birthday decorations waiting on the dining room table.
Seven years.
That was how long I’d been married to Ethan.
I knew how he liked his coffee, which shirt he wore when he was nervous, and the way he hummed while looking for his car keys.
But suddenly I was wondering how much of our life he’d been telling another woman.
David spoke again.
“Claire, I don’t want Noah dragged into this.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then we should be careful.”
