Natalie went quiet. “Did you sleep with my husband?” “No.” Rachel believed her.
Not because trust existed. Because the answer came with no delay. “Did you want to?” Silence.
“Yes.” “Did he?” “Yes.”
Rachel leaned back in her chair. “How long?” Natalie said the texting started in June.
The first kiss had been September, exactly as David said. There were more kisses. Hands. Hotel lobby corners.
A parking garage. An office after hours. But no sex. Natalie claimed that line had become their absurd proof they were “not fully cheating.” Rachel almost laughed.
“What did you think you were doing?” Natalie cried harder. “Being selfish.” At least the word was accurate.
Rachel asked about Saturday. Natalie admitted they had planned for her to come after Sophie went to bed. Not for work.
That lie collapsed fully. They ordered food. They drank. They kissed in the kitchen.
They went upstairs. Natalie had changed into Rachel’s sweatshirt because the dress had wine on it, but the wine spill happened after they had already been in the bedroom. “How?” Rachel asked. Natalie said the wine had been on the nightstand. The detail was so intimate and obscene in its domestic specificity that Rachel had to close her eyes.
Her nightstand. Her bedroom. Her glassware. Her child asleep down the hall.
“Did you get into my bed?” Rachel asked. “No.” “Did he?”
“No.” Rachel breathed. It was a line. Meaningless in one way.