“Everett’s wedding, of course!”
“Everett is getting married?”
“Oh, yes! He told me about the engagement last month.”
For seven years, I’d been the woman sleeping beside him, sharing his home, planning our future.
And now his own mother was telling me he was engaged to someone else.
I turned toward my husband.
“Everett, tell me she’s joking.”
“Rosalie, let me explain.”
“Explain what? You’re already married! To me!”
Beatrice gasped.
“Married?!”
I held up my wedding ring.
“For two years!”
She looked at her son.
“Everett, what is she talking about?”
He didn’t answer.
Then Beatrice shook her head.
“But that doesn’t make sense. I met your fiancée last month!”
I felt sick.
“You met her?!”
“Yes! We had lunch together. She was absolutely lovely.”
I remembered that Everett had spent a weekend away last month, supposedly attending a work conference.
“What’s her name?” I demanded.
