Daniel swallowed.
“It’s not what you think.”
Michael let out a bitter laugh.
“Then tell us what it is.”
Daniel looked around the room.
His colleagues were watching him. Our children were watching him. His friends, who had spent years praising his devotion to his family, were watching him.
For the first time that evening, he seemed to understand that he could no longer control the story.
He turned toward me.
“Margaret, we need to talk privately.”
“No,” I replied. “We’ve had forty years of private conversations. You had forty years to tell me the truth. Tonight, you can answer the questions you created.”
His voice rose.
“You’re destroying our marriage over a mistake!”
I felt those words strike me more deeply than I expected.
A mistake.
Forty years of shared history reduced to something he wanted me to forgive before dessert.
“How long?” I asked.
He stared at me.
