Rachel sat on the edge of the bed and opened the messages. There was no active thread with Natalie. Deleted. She looked up. David looked away.
“How long? He exhaled.” “Rachel.” “How long have you been deleting messages?”
“A while.” The phrase meant nothing. “How long?”
“Since summer.” Rachel felt the room tilt. Summer.
Not Saturday. Not one drunken boundary crossing. Months. “What happened in summer?”
David sat in the desk chair. “We started texting more.” “About work?” “At first.” There it was again.
The staircase. Rachel kept asking. Dinners after late meetings. Private jokes.
Complaints about spouses and family. Natalie was divorced, not married. Emotional intimacy. A kiss in September after a conference dinner.
Rachel had been home with Sophie that night. David had said the client event ran late. The world rearranged again. “September?” Rachel asked. He nodded.
“Any other kissing? He looked ashamed.” “Yes.” “How many times?”
“I don’t know.” “That means more than three.” David said nothing. Rachel stood and walked to the window. Their backyard looked exactly the same.
Swing set. Fence. Maple leaves collecting near the patio. She had always imagined betrayal would feel like fire.
Instead, it felt like watching familiar objects while realizing none of them could confirm what happened inside the people who owned them. “Did you love her?” Rachel asked. David answered too quickly.