It was inside the pocket of a jacket he had asked me to take to the cleaner.
One room.
Two guests.
A Wednesday night when he told me he was attending a client dinner.
I asked him about it.
He said a colleague had booked several rooms after drinks.
Then came a charge from a restaurant in the same hotel.
Dinner for two.
Then perfume on his shirt.
Then a name appearing too often on his phone.
Paige Arden.
She worked at Nolan’s firm.
Twenty-seven.
Smart.
Ambitious.
And, as I later learned, initially unaware that Nolan was still actively married.
I tried for almost six months to save us.
Counseling.
Conversations.
Promises.
Nothing worked.
Nolan did not want the marriage repaired.
