“When you phrase it like that, it sounds stressful.”
Hannah stared at her.
Lauren finally smiled faintly.
That smile lasted less than a second.
Hannah sat beside her.
“You knew?”
“For six days.”
“And said nothing?”
“I didn’t know who sent the photographs. I didn’t know whether they were authentic. So I checked.”
“Checked what?”
“His travel records. Security logs. The garage cameras at our house. Credit card authorizations. Calendar gaps.”
Hannah shook her head slowly.
“Remind me never to cheat on you.”
“That seems like a manageable promise.”
“Lauren.”
The humor disappeared.
Lauren looked toward the window.
Chicago glowed beyond the glass, wet streets reflecting red traffic lights beneath the black morning sky.
“I wanted to be wrong.”
Hannah said nothing.
“That was the part I didn’t prepare for,” Lauren continued. “I prepared for anger. I prepared for humiliation. I prepared for lawyers and houses and schedules and custody agreements.”
