“I can’t.”
I barely slept, convinced my husband was having an affair with a woman somehow connected to our daughter’s wedding.
The next morning, I pulled Emma into a dressing room at the venue.
“We need to talk.”
She was wearing her robe, her hair only half finished.
“Mom, what happened?”
“Your father knows the woman who called the bakery.”
Her expression changed.
“He was there with her.”
“Mom—”
“I think your father is having an affair.”
“Dad isn’t having an affair.”
Her immediate certainty startled me.
“How can you possibly know that?”
She looked away.
“Because I just know.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
David entered before I could question her further.
“I’m telling Emma about Laura,” I said.
“Laura, please.”
Emma faced him.
“Dad, you need to tell her.”
“You both know who she is?”
A venue employee appeared before he could answer.
“Sorry to interrupt. There’s a woman downstairs asking about the wedding cake.”
