“You said your wife knew,” she said. “You said you were just staying for paperwork.”
Caleb spread his hands.
“It was complicated.”
“No,” I said. “It was convenient.”
Marcus looked at his wife, pain aging him in seconds.
“How long?”
Vanessa swallowed.
“Almost a year.”
He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, whatever hope remained was gone.
“Then we’re done.”
That hurt her more than the exposure. She stepped toward him, but he pulled back.
Caleb turned to me, trying to regain control.
“Rachel, don’t do this in front of strangers.”
I laughed—a tired, disbelieving sound.
“Strangers? Your mistress knows my kitchen better than your conscience.”
He looked around, as if the house itself had turned against him.
“We can talk in private.”
“There’s nothing private left,” I said. “You ended that when you turned my home into a stage.”
I went to the closet, took out a suitcase I had already packed—and placed it by the door.
His, not mine.
“You’re leaving tonight,” I said. “No guest room. No couch. Figure it out.”
For once, Caleb had no response.
Marcus gave me a small nod—silent respect between two people caught in the same disaster. Then he turned to Vanessa.
“My lawyer will contact you.”