For half a second, I thought I hadn’t heard her correctly.
“A lady?”
Sophie nodded enthusiastically.
“The lady with the curly hair. Daddy said you couldn’t know yet.”
The sounds around me seemed to dull.
“What lady, Soph?”
She shrugged.
“I think her name is Camille. Or Camilla. Something like that.”
My stomach tightened.
Marcus had spent most Saturdays away from home for the past several months.
He always said he was dealing with suppliers, meeting contractors, or trying to rescue what remained of his struggling construction design business.
And I had believed him.
Why wouldn’t I?
During the previous year, his company had come dangerously close to collapsing.
One major commercial project had fallen through.
Two clients had delayed payment.
Marcus had stopped taking a salary.
Employees had been let go.
There had been nights when I found him sitting at the kitchen counter at 3:00 a.m. staring at spreadsheets with both hands buried in his hair.
I had watched the stress eat through him.
And eventually, I had done something I hadn’t told anyone except my best friend.
I had given Marcus almost everything I had saved.
Not retirement money.
