restaurant?”
I told him.
He nodded slowly.
“Oh. That was a meeting.”
“With whom?”
“A client.”
“What’s her name?”
His face hardened.
“Why are you asking me all these questions?”
I felt my confidence slipping.
Because suddenly, I was the one defending myself.
I was the one explaining why I had noticed my own husband sitting across from another woman.
I was the one being made to feel guilty for wanting to understand what I had seen.
“I just wanted to know,” I said.
“Well, now you know. It was
