Four Minute Phone Call Exposed My Husband and My Best Friend
Richard was already sitting at the kitchen island when I walked through the back door at seven o’clock. He had already plated the salmon I bought, his silver watch gleaming under the pendant lights as he lifted his fork.
“How is your mother doing?” he asked, not looking up from his plate.
“She is quiet,” I said, keeping my hands flat on the cool granite counter to hide the trembling. Under the lip of the stone, I twisted my gold wedding band around my knuckle.
“She asks about you,” I added, watching the steady, practiced rhythm of his shoulders.
Richard paused, his fork hovering over the fish. He looked at me, his eyes tracking the line of my jaw before he reached across the island to touch my wrist.
“You look a little pale tonight, Laura,” he said.
“I am just tired,” I said, pulling my hand back under the pretense of reaching for a glass of water. “The traffic on the bridge was backed up for miles.”
