Her eyes closed.
For a second, she looked completely broken.
Then she recovered.
“My baby.”
“You came all the way here?”
“Yes.”
“Dad's idea.”
Sophie held up the card.
“Surprise.”
Rebecca looked at me over Sophie’s head.
I could not hold her gaze.
Curtis remained sitting.
“Hey, Mom.”
Rebecca went to him.
Kissed his hair.
He stiffened slightly.
She noticed.
“You okay?”
“Fine.”
The room filled with things nobody said.
Sophie talked enough for all of us.
Airport.
Plane.
Rental car.
Hotel.
Her stuffed rabbit.
A boat she wanted to see.
A bakery her friend Emma had told her about.
Rebecca listened.
Smiled.
Asked questions.
I watched my wife perform motherhood while knowing that fifteen minutes earlier another man had learned she had children.
That contradiction made me feel physically ill.
Then Sophie said:
“Dad said we can all eat.”
Rebecca’s smile faltered.
“I wish I could.”
“I have a client dinner.”
I looked at her.
She met my eyes briefly.
This time I believed there probably was a client dinner.
That did not make the sentence easier.
Sophie’s shoulders dropped.
“But we came here.”
“I know.”
Rebecca knelt.
“I’m sorry.”
“I can't miss this one.”
“The account is in the final stage.”
“I promise tomorrow is ours.”
Sophie looked at me.
“Dad?”
I wanted to say no.
Wanted to tell Rebecca to cancel every meeting, every dinner, every email, every obligation because our family was on fire.
Then I remembered something uncomfortable.
Rebecca’s company did not cause the affair.
Her job was still real.
The client was real.
Our children still needed two functioning parents, not an explosion.
“Mom has to work tonight.”
I said.
Sophie frowned.
“Then can we see the harbor?”
Rebecca looked toward me.
“Of course.”
I answered.
“We’ll go.”
Rebecca touched my arm lightly.
“Can I talk to you outside?”
Curtis muttered:
“Subtle.”
Rebecca heard.
Her face tightened.
I followed her into the hallway.
The moment the door closed, she whispered:
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Not telling them.”
“I didn't do it for you.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
I leaned against the wall.
“Is there actually a dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Trevor?”
“No.”
“He isn't on the account.”
“Then what is he doing in Boston?”
She looked away.
“He came for another meeting.”
“And happened to be staying here?”
“He booked the hotel after I told him where we were staying.”
There it was.
Another layer.
Rebecca rubbed her forehead.
“I know how that sounds.”
“Stop saying things like that.”
“How it sounds is how it is.”
She began crying again.
“I need tonight.”
“For what?”
“To get through this dinner.”
“To think.”
“To figure out what I’m going to tell work.”
I stared.
“Work?”
“Trevor is a colleague.”
“If this gets…”
She stopped.
I felt anger rise again.
“You're worried about HR?”
“No.”
“Mike, I am worried about everything.”
“Our marriage.”