The woman who had looked me straight in the eyes three months earlier and said, “Your husband tells me everything.”
I put my mug down.
“Does your friend have a name for the father of her baby?”
My husband’s expression hardened.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I’m just curious whether the father is helping her.”
“She’s been through enough without people judging her.”
“People? Or me?”
He pushed his plate away.
“You’re doing exactly what I expected you to do. Turning a simple act of kindness into some ridiculous jealousy contest.”
I almost laughed.
A simple act of kindness.
He was moving his mistress and her newborn into the house I had purchased with my own money before we met, and he was accusing me of being unkind.
Then he leaned back, confident that he had won the argument before it had even begun.
“Besides,” he added, “you work from home. You’ll have plenty of time to help her with the baby. It will be good for you to have something useful to do.”
