He looked toward the window.
“Some arrangements were still being finalized.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Margaret, you know how business works.”
“Yes, I do. That’s why I know when someone is avoiding a question.”
His jaw tightened.
Then he said, “I made mistakes.”
I felt something inside me grow very still.
“Mistakes are forgetting an anniversary. Mistakes are saying something cruel during an argument. Mistakes are buying the wrong car because you didn’t listen to your wife.”
I stepped closer.
“Creating a secret relationship, lying to two women, involving another family’s daughter in a risky investment, and apparently submitting a document with my signature on it are not one unfortunate mistake.”
He looked at me as though he had never heard me speak that way before.
Perhaps he hadn’t.
For decades, I had been the person who smoothed things over. I had protected his pride in front of our children and defended him when relatives criticized his decisions.
