“You held my children.”
Her face crumpled.
“I know.”
“You looked at me every Christmas.”
“Yes.”
“And every birthday.”
“Yes.”
“And every time I told you how much I trusted you.”
She couldn’t answer.
I stepped closer.
“You didn’t just betray me.”
She looked at me.
“You made me feel stupid for trusting you.”
“I never thought you were stupid.”
“You told him I trusted him completely.”
She went pale.
“You saw that?”
“Yes.”
She covered her mouth.
I whispered:
“That sentence hurt more than the photographs.”
She cried harder.
“I didn’t mean—”
“You did.”
“No.”
“You did.”
She shook her head.
“I loved you too.”
I stared at her.
“Then you would have stopped.”
She had no answer.
After a long silence, she said, “He promised me he’d leave you.”
I sat opposite him.
Neither of us knew what to say.
Finally, he said:
“I called you in February.”
