“Why?”
Rebecca pressed both palms against her eyes.
“Because I knew if I told him the truth, he wouldn't go further.”
I sat back.
At least she had finally said something honest.
“That means you knew exactly what you were doing.”
“Yes.”
No defense.
No mistake language.
Yes.
I looked at her.
“Why?”
She cried quietly.
“I don't have one good answer.”
“Try.”
Rebecca took a breath.
“I liked who I was around him.”
“What does that mean?”
“He didn't know me as Mom.”
“He didn't know me as the person who remembers dentist appointments and school calendars.”
“He didn't know about the mortgage.”
“Your father’s medication.”
“My mother’s funeral.”
“Your work stress.”
“He knew me as someone interesting.”
I stared.
“And we didn't?”
“That isn't what I mean.”
“It is exactly what you mean.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“You and the kids are my real life.”
“That was part of it.”
“I started feeling like real life was the only version of me left.”
I laughed bitterly.
“So you created a fake one.”
Rebecca cried harder.
“Yes.”
The answer stopped me.
No blame.
No:
You were distant.
No:
We had grown apart.
Just yes.
She continued.
“I told myself flirting wasn't cheating.”
“Then I told myself one kiss wasn't the same as an affair.”
“Then after New York, I told myself it would never happen again.”
“Then it did.”
“Every time, I moved the line after I crossed it.”
I looked away.
Outside the lobby windows, Boston was waking.
Delivery trucks.
People walking quickly with coffee.
Life continuing.
“Did you ever plan to leave me?”
“No.”
“Then what was Trevor?”
She looked at me.
“An escape I thought I could keep separate.”
The sentence was ugly.
Accurate.
“How did you imagine this ending?”
“I didn't.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is.”
Rebecca wiped her face.
“I kept thinking only about the next trip.”
“The next message.”
“The next time.”
“I never allowed myself to imagine you finding out.”
“Or Curtis.”
“Or Sophie.”
“That was how I did it.”
“By refusing to think beyond the moment.”
I believed her.
That made it worse in some ways.
I asked:
“Do you love him?”
“No.”
“Does he love you?”
“I don't know.”
“Will you see him again?”
“No.”
“Because I caught you?”
“Yes.”
Then quickly:
“And because I don't want this.”
I looked at her.
“You wanted it yesterday.”
Rebecca closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
That was the conversation’s most important moment.
She stopped asking me to pretend she had not chosen it.
I said:
“We're going home today.”
Her eyes opened.
“What?”
“The kids and I.”
“I changed the flights.”
“Mike…”
“I’m not keeping them here while we perform a weekend.”
“I want to see them.”
“You can come to the airport.”
“Sophie thinks tomorrow…”
“I know.”
“I will tell her plans changed.”
Rebecca covered her face.
“I did this.”
“Yes.”
“Do not ask me to tell you otherwise.”
She nodded.
I stood.