“What secret?”
“I don’t know.
I asked Kayla, and she said she didn’t believe him.”
“Did you believe her?”
“No.”
The honesty of his answer hurt.
After the call, Andrew stood by the window for a long time.
Finally, I asked him, “Do you know Daniel?”
“No.”
“Have you ever worked with anyone connected to his business?”
“Not that I can remember.”
“Then what secret is he talking about?”
Andrew turned toward me.
“I don’t know.”
I wanted to believe him.
I did believe him.
But the phrase had lodged itself in my mind.
A secret from before we were married.
I thought of our wedding, our early years together, the apartment we had shared before buying the house, the difficult period when Andrew’s father had become ill and Andrew had taken time off work to care for him.
I knew my husband.
Or I believed I did.
