The weekend Mark supposedly attended a work conference, he’d taken Claire to a cabin.
The evening his car supposedly broke down, he’d been having dinner with her.
Last Thanksgiving, when he disappeared to help a friend, he’d visited Claire because she was alone.
Every explanation I’d accepted had given him another opportunity to see her.
Then Claire showed me a message.
Sometimes I think I survived losing Lisa because I was meant to find you.
“He used my name?”
Claire nodded.
“He talked about you often. He said you were kind and that he hoped you’d want him to be happy.”
For years, I’d worried our marriage had become ordinary.
We worked, paid bills, argued about chores, and watched television together.
I’d sometimes wondered whether Mark missed our younger days.
But I’d never imagined he was using me as a dead woman in a love story.
