Marcus noticed.
“Everyone out.”
Nobody moved at first.
He did not raise his voice.
“Now.”
The mansion came alive.
Guests collected coats.
Conversations started in nervous whispers.
Security opened doors.
Within minutes, Chicago’s polished holiday elite was filing into the snow, many of them pretending not to look back at Marcus Vale still kneeling beside his wife’s luggage.
I watched them leave.
“You didn’t have to send them away.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
“Because for six years I let the world have more of me than my wife did.”
That sentence landed somewhere deep, somewhere I did not want him reaching anymore.
I looked toward the door.
My driver would arrive soon.
Marcus followed my eyes.
“You really have a flight?”
“Eleven-thirty.
San Diego.”
“Simone?”
I nodded.
Something almost like shame crossed his face.
“Of course Simone knew.”
“She noticed me.”
Another hit.
Marcus rose slowly to his feet, but he did not move closer.
That mattered.
Old Marcus would have filled the space between us simply because he could.
He would have started solving.
Called the driver.
Canceled the flight.
Summoned lawyers.
Made the problem disappear through force of will.
Instead, he stayed several feet away.
“Can I ask one question?”
“You can ask.”
“How long have you known?”
“Five days.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“Five days.”
“I took the first test Monday morning.”
“Were you alone?”
I stared at him.
The question was so simple that it nearly broke me.
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened.
“I should have been there.”
“You weren’t.”
“I know.”
There it was again.
No defense.
No excuse about meetings, responsibilities, or pressure.
Just the truth.
