“How did you even know?”
Mark rubbed a hand over his face. “Because she called my wife after one of her appointments. She didn’t have anyone else nearby. Claire drove her home twice.”
I felt my stomach twist.
Claire.
Mark’s wife.
Someone outside our marriage had been helping Sophie while I slept in my apartment and told myself distance was healing.
“She didn’t want you to know,” Mark said. “Claire wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you. Sophie begged us not to.”
“And you listened?”
“She said you were barely holding yourself together after the divorce.”
I laughed once, bitterly. “That was generous of her.”
Mark’s voice turned firm. “Don’t make this about pride.”
I looked at him.
He was sitting there with stitches in his chest,and somehow he still managed to look at me like an older brother about to tell me the truth I had avoided.
