Why had my husband been at our daughter’s bakery with another woman?
That night, after we finished loading decorations into the cars, I found David alone in our kitchen.
I placed the number on the counter.
“Do you recognize this?”
He looked at it.
“No.”
“Someone used it when she called Emma’s bakery pretending to be Emma.”
He frowned.
“And apparently,” I continued, “you were there with her a few weeks ago.”
David froze.
That tiny pause frightened me more than any confession could have.
“Laura, tomorrow is our daughter’s wedding. Please don’t do this tonight.”
My heart sank.
“So you do know her.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
He looked toward the hallway, as if he feared someone might hear us.
Then he shook his head.
“I can’t.”
I barely slept.
By morning, I had convinced myself of the obvious explanation.
