That felt like an answer.
I leaned closer.
“Why are you protecting him?”
“I’m not.”
“Then tell me.”
She glanced toward the elevators before lowering her voice.
“Your husband already asked me not to discuss his previous visits with you.”
“Asked you when?”
“This morning.”
My face burned.
“So he came down here before he went out?”
She didn’t answer.
“He knew I might ask.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Did he pay you?”
Her eyes widened. “No.”
“I’ll pay you more.”
“No.”
I hated myself the second I said it.
She stepped back.
“I can’t help you.”
I walked away shaking.
Robert had lied upstairs, then gone downstairs to make sure no one else told me the truth.
That evening, I sat across from him at dinner pretending everything was fine.
I kept thinking about our 40 years together.
Were we happy?
Or had more of it been built on lies than I realized?
A waiter set down my plate. “Enjoy.”
“Thank you.”
Robert studied the wine list.
Then I noticed a folded piece of paper beneath my plate.
I pulled it free.
Two lines were written on it.
“I know your husband’s secret.”
“Meet me at the back entrance at 11 p.m. Come alone.”
