Four Minute Phone Call Exposed My Husband and My Best Friend
“Ten o’clock,” I said, kissing her cheek. “Don’t be late.”
I let myself out of the apartment and walked down the quiet hallway. The silence of the brick building felt heavy, but as I reached my car, I felt a cold, sharp focus settle over me.
When I returned to the Queen Anne house, the clock in the hall was ticking toward ten. I walked into the kitchen and found Richard sitting in the dark living room, a single reading lamp illuminating the glass of amber scotch in his hand.
He looked up, a relaxed, easy expression on his face.
“Did you see her?” he asked.
“She is coming,” I said, taking off my coat and hanging it in the closet. “She was so happy for us, Richard.”
“Good,” he said, taking a slow, appreciative sip of his drink. He leaned his head back against the leather chair, his eyes half-closed. “It is going to be a big day tomorrow, Laura. You made the right choice.”
