“This is insane,” Rachel said, though her voice had lost most of its earlier confidence. “You can’t possibly prove any of this connects.”
“I’m not trying to prove anything in a courtroom,” Margaret said calmly. “I’m simply telling my sister the truth, since apparently nobody else in this kitchen was planning to.”
The color drained slowly out of Tyler’s face, one page at a time, as he read.
“This isn’t,” Rachel started. “This is completely out of context.”
“Are you actually pregnant,” Tyler asked her, very quietly, not looking up from the folder.
She didn’t answer him.
“Rachel. Are you actually pregnant.”
Still nothing at all.
I watched my husband of eighteen years finally, truly see the woman he had traded our entire marriage for. Not a great love story. Not a soulmate discovered late in life. A practiced, patient hand who had walked into his office building, listened carefully to him complain about a paid off house and a dead father in law’s money, and quietly decided he was ready to be picked.
