Maybe because Walter looked guilty enough for both of them.
Camille dressed quickly.
She shoved her feet into shoes.
Then walked past me.
Before leaving, she stopped.
“I’m sorry.”
I said nothing.
The apartment door closed.
Then it was just Walter and me.
Thirty-two years of marriage standing between us.
I looked at him.
“How long?”
He sat down.
“Margaret.”
“How long?”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“This is complicated.”
I laughed.
“No.”
“It’s actually incredibly simple.”
“You’re sleeping with someone young enough to be our daughter.”
He looked down.
“How long?”
“Eight months.”
My chest tightened.
Eight months.
Christmas.
Our anniversary.
Samuel’s birthday.
My birthday.
Every ordinary dinner.
Eight months of lies.
I turned toward the door.
Walter said,
“Wait.”
I stopped.
Not because I wanted to.
Because his next sentence changed everything again.
“Samuel doesn’t know.”
I turned slowly.
“What?”
“He doesn’t know I’m using the apartment.”
My anger sharpened.
“You have a key.”
Walter said nothing.
“How?”
He looked away.
I stared.
“Walter.”
“I made one.”
“From Samuel’s key?”
“No.”
“Then whose?”
His silence answered.
Chloe.
My heart started pounding again.
