Four Minute Phone Call Exposed My Husband and My Best Friend
“I brought you some things from the market,” I said, walking past her into the small, warm kitchen. “The organic pears you like, and some raspberry leaf tea.”
The apartment was cluttered with baby supplies. In the corner of the living room, the solid oak crib and the blue velvet glider chair were already assembled, their polished wood gleaming under the floor lamp.
“The nursery is coming along,” I said, setting the grocery bag on the counter.
Monica stood by the door, her hand still resting on her collarbone. She looked pale, her eyes darting to the hallway closet.
“Yes,” she said. “A friend helped me put the crib together yesterday. It was a lot of work.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said, walking over to touch the smooth railing of the crib. “Richard has such good taste in furniture, doesn’t he?”
Monica’s breath hitched. She took a step back, her fingers tightening against her neck.
“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
