“She says her name is Laura.”
David went pale.
“She’s here?”
He hurried downstairs, and I followed.
A woman around our age stood near the entrance, wearing dark pants and a cream blouse, clutching her purse.
David stopped several feet away.
“You need to leave.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Still protecting her, David?”
“Is this her?” I demanded.
“Laura—”
I approached the stranger.
“How long have you been sleeping with my husband?”
She stared, then laughed in disbelief.
“Oh my God. You think I’m his mistress?”
“Then why does my husband know you? Why were you at my daughter’s bakery with him?”
“This isn’t the time.”
“No, David. You’ve had long enough.”
She turned toward me.
“Your husband and I are not having an affair.”
“Then why does he know you?”
She glanced at Emma, who had followed us downstairs.
“That’s not the question you should be asking.”
