Four Minute Phone Call Exposed My Husband and My Best Friend
I pulled the roll of brown tape from my sweater. My left ring finger felt light, almost cold, where the gold band had lived for fifteen years. I set the tape on a packing box and reached for the wicker basket.
“The blanket should go first,” my mother said, pointing her finger toward the blue wool.
I lifted the blue baby blanket, the fabric soft and clean under my fingers. It was the same blanket Monica had shown me at the cafe, the one Richard had paid for from the secret account. Holding it now, the truth of the last nine weeks felt solid and heavy in my hands. The child Monica carried was Richard’s. There were no more lies to peel back, no more hidden transfers to uncover.
“She called me this morning,” I said, keeping my hands steady as I placed the blanket at the bottom of the first box.
My mother stopped folding a cardboard flap and looked up at me. “Monica?”
“She wanted to talk about the nursery furniture,” I said. “She asked if she could keep the crib.”
“And what did you tell her?” my mother asked.
