"Cath, you don't know the half of it." Eleanor's normally firm and loving voice faltered a little as she carefully set down her teacup.
Her tone made my heart race, so I stopped in the middle of reaching for my own cup. Since we first met, Eleanor had been a rock-solid ally and a calming influence in the chaos that was my life with Mike. Now, though, something about her behavior—the way she averted her eyes, the unusual rigidity in her shoulders—made me shudder.
"Half of what?" I leaned back in my chair and inquired cautiously.
Eleanor's countenance wavered between indecision and determination as she folded her hands in her lap. Her eyes finally met mine as she inhaled deeply.
Mike's history. He hasn't told you some things, and I've been keeping some things to myself for years.
I was
