Twelve months of dinners, messages, excuses, and mornings when Tyler had kissed me goodbye while planning to meet another woman.
Twelve months in which I had blamed myself for the distance growing between us.
“Does he love you?” I asked.
She lifted her chin.
“Yes.”
“Has he told you that?”
“Of course.”
“Then why did he send you here instead of coming himself?”
That question unsettled her.
For the first time, she looked away.
“He’s trying to avoid hurting you.”
I couldn’t help it.
I laughed.
It was a small, bitter sound, but it surprised us both.
“He’s been having an affair for almost a year, and he sent you to demand my house. And you’re telling me he’s trying not to hurt me?”
Rachel’s cheeks reddened.
“You don’t have to be sarcastic.”
“No. I suppose I don’t.”
She picked up her handbag.
“Look, Tyler told me he’d already spoken to you about separating.”
