Facts first.
Not shouting. Not public humiliation. Not begging a liar for one more explanation. Facts.
“My dad’s a divorce attorney,” Daniel added. “The useful kind, not the billboard kind. If you don’t have someone, I can text you his number.”
I should have refused. I should have gone home and cried and told myself I needed time. But something inside me had already shifted. The woman who had walked into that restaurant with an anniversary gift no longer existed.
“Text me,” I said.
My phone buzzed almost immediately.
At first I thought it was Daniel. It was Andrew.
Please come home so we can talk.
Then another message.
It isn’t what it looked like.
Then a third.
Don’t do anything drastic until I explain.
