I nearly groaned out loud.
I turned back to him slowly, my eyes wide with disbelief. “What’s going on?” I asked, even though I already felt the answer coming.
He took a breath, that fake kind of breath meant to look sincere. “I know you don’t want to talk about our marriage or our relationship, but… I’m doing this for you. I need to know what Mr. Smith told you.”
I could have shouted.
I could have screamed.
The rage that flared in my chest was sharp and searing. But I didn’t lash out. I didn’t give him the satisfaction.
Because now I saw it clearly.
This wasn’t about love.
It wasn’t even about me.
He wasn’t concerned about what was left of our marriage, the wreckage he caused, or how broken I felt standing here in my own doorway trying not to shatter.
He was here for information.
