“What if she suspects something is wrong?” Isabelle asked.
My best friend laughed lightly in response. It was the exact same familiar sound I had heard at weekend brunches, birthday parties, bridal showers, and late night phone calls when I had cried to her about my fear that Hunter was drifting away from me. She had comforted me with one voice while using another to steal my entire life.
“She won’t suspect a thing,” Hunter assured her. “Kylie trusts people completely because that is how Philip raised her. She is sweet, loyal, and hopelessly sentimental, so she still thinks marriage is sacred.”
I looked down at my wedding ring as the diamond caught the bedside lamp and flashed sharp as a warning.
“Good,” Isabelle’s voice softened through the speaker. “Because I really don’t want to hide our relationship much longer.”
“You won’t have to,” Hunter replied, making a quiet sound I had once mistaken for true tenderness.
There was a brief pause and a soft rustle of clothing over the line.
“I’m pregnant,” Isabelle said softly, uttering the single sentence that turned betrayal into something colder than grief.
I did not scream, nor did I throw the expensive phone across the room. I did not collapse dramatically onto the floor the way women do in bad movies when the truth finally finds them. I simply sat down on the edge of the plush bed and stared at the framed wedding photo sitting on top of the dark wood dresser.
