“Enough.”
“No,” I said. “Let her talk.”
He looked at me.
“You are going to believe a woman you met 30 seconds ago over the man you’ve been with for four years?”
That was exactly the question he wanted me to ask myself.
And for a second, it worked.
I knew Evan.
I knew how he took his coffee.
How he slept with one foot outside the blanket.
How he called his mother every Tuesday.
How he cried when our dog died.
Vanessa was a stranger in a bright red dress who had arrived uninvited at my wedding.
But then I looked at his face.
And I remembered the courthouse photograph.
Fourteen months ago.
He had lied.
Whatever else was true, that part was undeniable.
“You lied to me about seeing her.”
His jaw tightened.
“I was trying to protect our relationship.”
“By lying?”
“By not bringing her chaos into it.”
