I didn’t know how to tell my son that the two people he trusted most had betrayed him.
I didn’t know how to face the fact that my thirty-one-year marriage had become something I no longer recognized.
Most of all, I didn’t know how I was supposed to go home, look at my husband, and pretend I hadn’t seen him holding another woman.
Then headlights swept across the cemetery entrance.
A familiar truck pulled into the parking area.
Daniel.
He climbed out wearing his hospital scrubs, looking exhausted after a long shift. He was thirty years old, but in that moment, watching him hurry toward me with concern written across his face, I saw the little boy who used to run to me whenever he had a nightmare.
“Mom?”
I stood up.
“Why are you here?” he asked. “You sounded strange on the phone. What happened?”
“Sit down, sweetheart.”
His expression changed.
