Aimee’s POV
With my hair in an updo, high-inched heels, a cream pencil skirt that falls below my knees, and a peach blouse top, I held my chin up high as I grace the entrance of an Italian restaurant.
“Hi ma’am, good afternoon! Do you have a reservation?” says one of the waitresses.
I reciprocate her smiles and nods. “I believe I have. Probably under the name of Mr. Finnson.” My grip tightens on the two brown envelopes that I am holding. While waiting for the waitress to check my husband’s name, I roam my eyes to the restaurant. A bitter smile flashes on my lips. This is the same restaurant where I saw him eating with Pearl right after we do the deed. And I am the crazy housewife who followed my husband while wearing sweatpants and a shirt. I shook my head and chuckled. Talking about
