Four Minute Phone Call Exposed My Husband and My Best Friend
I twisted my gold wedding band, the metal cold against my skin, the tiny inscription inside feeling like a mocking whisper.
“There is more in the folder, Laura,” James said.
The waitress, an older woman with a faded name tag that read Dot, stepped up to our table holding a fresh pot of coffee.
“You kids haven’t touched your breakfast,” Dot said, looking at our cold plates of eggs and hash browns.
“Just a refill, please, Dot,” I said, forcing a small smile.
“Your dad used to sit in this exact booth,” she said, pouring the dark liquid into my mug. “He always ordered the sourdough toast burnt to a crisp. Said it built character.”
A small wave of warmth went through me at the mention of my father, a clean, solid memory in the middle of this mess.
“He did,” I said. “He used to tell me the charcoal was good for the digestion.”
“He was a good man, Laura,” Dot said, patting my shoulder with a soft hand that smelled of dish soap and maple syrup. “You make sure you take care of yourself.”
