She was a therapist.
That answered one question.
But it left several others.
Why had Ashton been attending therapy without telling me?
Why had he consulted someone about our marriage?
And why did he have unsigned divorce papers and a packed suitcase?
I arranged everything on the living room table and waited for him to return.
Shortly after six, I heard Ashton’s keys hit the kitchen counter.
“Sutton?”
“I’m in the living room.”
He appeared in the doorway.
I could make out the shape of his face, although his features remained blurred.
Then he noticed the suitcase.
He stopped.
“Where did you find that?”
“Under our bed.”
His shoulders stiffened.
I held up the envelope.
“Ashton, is there something you need to tell me?”
He slowly sat in the chair opposite mine.
“Sutton…”
“Please don’t lie to me.”
He rubbed his hands together.
“How much have you read?”
