I closed my eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“He was with Natalie during our twentieth anniversary weekend. He told me the hotel had canceled his reservation, so we stayed home.”
She laughed bitterly.
“I made him his favorite dinner. I bought him a watch. He kissed my forehead and told me I was the best wife in the world.”
I felt sick.
“Karen, what do you need?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s okay.”
“I hate that answer.”
“Then I’ll come over and let you hate it in person.”
She tried to laugh.
It came out as a sob.
Twenty minutes later, I was standing in the Mercer kitchen.
Karen sat on the floor beside a shattered wineglass. She wore gray sweatpants and an old college shirt that belonged to Daniel. Her mascara had run, and her hair was pulled into a careless knot.
She looked nothing like the composed woman who had always welcomed me into her home.
