Before leaving, he stopped at the front door.
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“Jessica isn’t the only person who has been lying to you.”
I stared at him.
He glanced at my phone.
“Mark’s family knows more than you think.”
Then he walked into the snow.
At 1:17 Christmas morning, I turned my phone back on.
Thirty-eight missed calls.
Fourteen messages from Mark.
Anna please answer.
I can explain.
You misunderstood part of what you heard.
Please don’t do anything tonight.
That last message almost made me laugh.
Apparently neither husband wanted his wife making sudden decisions.
I texted Mark five words.
We’ll talk in the morning.
He answered immediately.
Thank God.
At ten the next morning, he came home carrying coffee and wearing the face he used when he needed clients to believe bad news was manageable.
He stopped when he saw my suitcase by the stairs.
“Anna.”
“Sit down.”
He obeyed.
I remained standing.
“How long?”
Mark rubbed both hands over his face.
“Six months.”
James’s photographs went back almost nine.
First lie.
“Is she pregnant?”
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“Is it yours?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
He lowered his eyes.
“I never wanted you to find out like that.”
I wondered what method of discovery he had imagined would preserve my dignity.
A scheduled betrayal?
A tasteful announcement after dessert?
“You said you were filing after New Year’s.”
Mark looked at me quickly.
“So you heard everything.”
“Enough.”
He stood.
“Anna, I know this is horrible.
But Jessica and I didn’t plan this.”
The photographs in James’s folder flashed through my mind.
Parking garages.
Financial offices.
Transfers.
They had planned plenty.
I let my eyes fill, not entirely as an act.
