I had never seen him look so frightened. But instead of reassuring me, his fear made everything worse.
“Get out of my sight,” I whispered.
He tried to approach me.
I stepped backward.
“Don’t touch me.”
He stood there helplessly while I left the bedroom.
That afternoon, Emily arrived at our house carrying a paper bag from my favorite bakery.
She walked into the kitchen smiling.
“Mom, I brought you—”
Then she saw my face.
Her smile disappeared.
I placed Michael’s phone on the table between us. I had photographed the messages before putting it back.
“Sit down.”
She slowly lowered herself into a chair.
“Mom, what’s happened?”
“You tell me.”
I showed her the photograph.
She stared at it, and the expression on her face was not guilt exactly. It was fear.
That frightened me more than anything else.
“How long?” I asked.
“Mom—”
“How long have you been seeing my husband behind my back?”
