When I told her what I’d discovered, she became quiet.
“Sutton, have you actually asked Ashton about these papers?”
“Not yet.”
“Then you need to talk to him.”
“What possible explanation could he have for hiding divorce documents beneath our bed?”
“I don’t know. But imagining the worst won’t give you the truth.”
After we ended the call, I returned to the suitcase.
Beneath Ashton’s shirts, I found a small notebook.
It contained dates, appointments, and handwritten reflections.
Some entries were several months old.
I used my phone to enlarge the writing.
Feeling overwhelmed after work.
Having trouble sleeping.
Need to establish healthier boundaries.
Then one sentence caught my attention.
Am I helping Sutton become more independent, or am I making her feel incapable?
I read it twice.
Tucked between the pages was a business card.
Rebecca — Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist.
I sat back.
Rebecca wasn’t necessarily another woman in my husband’s personal life.
