Clare stared at him.
No one interrupted.
Five seconds passed.
Then ten.
Her father looked down at the table.
That silence answered more than anything she had said.
But Jack needed to hear it.
“Clare.
Were you with Derek?”
She whispered, “Yes.”
Her mother sat down abruptly.
One sister covered her mouth.
Jack felt his chest tighten, although he had known before asking.
Knowing was not the same as hearing your wife say it.
“Why?”
Clare wiped at her cheek.
“It wasn’t supposed to become this.”
Jack looked at her without speaking.
She seemed to understand there was no useful lie left.
“It started with work,” she said.
“Dinners.
Talking afterward.
He paid attention to me.
I liked it.
I told myself it was harmless.
Then it wasn’t.”
Her father stood and walked a few steps away from the table.
“How long?” Jack asked.
Clare hesitated.
“Months.”
The word hurt more than Jack expected.
Months meant birthdays.
Ordinary breakfasts.
Nights when she had kissed him goodnight.
Weekends when he had asked what was wrong and she had said she was tired.
Months meant practice.
That was why the lie on the phone had sounded so natural.
“Was he in this house?”
Clare looked at the watch.
“Yes.”
Her mother whispered her name.
Clare began crying harder.
“I know how it looks.”
Jack finally let a little anger into his voice.
“It looks exactly like what it is.”
“I didn’t plan this.”
“You planned enough to tell me you were in our bed while I was standing beside it.”
She flinched.
There it was again—the part Jack could not get past.
The betrayal was terrible.
The ease of the deception was worse.
Clare’s sister asked, “Did Derek know Jack was away?”
Clare didn’t answer.
Jack noticed.
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
