It turned out he was actually asking her to finally stop lying to me.
I was still reading when someone knocked on the door.
It was Susan.
She hadn’t run away.
She had simply spent the entire morning sitting in the café across from the hotel.
When I opened the door, she didn’t even try to smile.
“Did you read it?”
I didn’t want to slap her.
I didn’t even want to scream.
And somehow, that was worse.
I simply asked:
“How many times did you sit at my table, look me in the eye, and remember that you had slept with my husband?”
Her face went pale.
“Every time.”
“And when he died and I cried in your arms?”
Susan’s eyes filled with tears.
“Every minute.”
“And when you told me Michael loved me?”
“He did love you.”
For the first time, I raised my voice.
“Don’t defend him.”
