Chapter 3: The Dinner Invitation
At 6:52 p.m., I stood in Margaret Bennett’s guest bathroom, staring at my reflection.
My eyes were swollen.
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
I had changed into a simple black dress, but I still felt as though everyone would be able to see the humiliation written across my face.
Downstairs, Margaret’s house was unnaturally quiet.
The dining table had been set for four.
Four plates.
Four glasses.
Four neatly folded napkins.
I counted them twice.
“Who else is coming?”” I asked when Margaret entered the room.
“Just us.””
“Then why four?””
She paused.
“Because Daniel’s father will be here.””
I looked toward the empty chair at the head of the table.
For years, I’d believed Richard Bennett was a difficult man to impress but a fair one.
He rarely discussed family business with me, and I’d assumed it was because he preferred privacy.
Now I wondered how many conversations had taken place without me.
At exactly seven, the front door opened.
Daniel walked in alone.
His hair was slightly disheveled, and he’d changed out of the coat I’d bought him.
That detail hurt more than it should have.
He’d had time to change.
Time to prepare.
Time to decide what story he would tell.
“Emily,” he said quietly.
I didn’t answer.
He looked at Margaret.
“Mom, can we talk privately?””
“No.””
His face hardened.
“This is between my wife and me.””
“Then you should have remembered you had a wife before taking another woman shopping with you.””
Daniel flinched.
For a moment, I saw the man I’d married—the man who used to laugh with me in grocery store aisles and kiss my forehead whenever I fell asleep on the couch.
Then he looked at me.
“It isn’t what you think.””
I almost laughed.
“Then tell me what it is.””
He opened his mouth, but no answer came.
Margaret pulled out a chair.
“Sit down, Daniel.””
He obeyed.
A minute later, Richard entered the dining room carrying a thick manila envelope.
He greeted me with a quiet nod before placing it beside his plate.
Daniel stared at the envelope.
“What’s that?””
“Something we should have discussed sooner,” Richard replied.
My pulse quickened.
Margaret sat beside me, close enough that her hand briefly touched mine beneath the table.
Daniel looked between his parents.
“Why is everyone acting like I’ve committed a crime?””
“No one has accused you of anything,” Richard said.
“Then what is this?””
Richard rested one hand on the envelope.
“A conversation about Vanessa Reed.””
Daniel went completely still.
Not confused.
Not offended.
Still.
It was the reaction of a man who recognized a name he desperately hoped would never be spoken in that room.
I turned toward my husband.
“How long?””
He looked at me.
“Emily, please.””
“How long have you been seeing her?””
“I can explain.””
“Then explain.””
His eyes moved toward the envelope again.
And that was when I understood something even more painful than the affair itself.
Daniel wasn’t afraid of my questions.
He was afraid of whatever his parents had brought to the table.
Richard slowly opened the envelope and removed the first document.
“Before you tell your wife anything,” he said, “I suggest you look at this.””
May you like
Daniel’s face drained of color.
And when Richard turned the document toward me, I recognized Vanessa’s name beside a detail that had nothing to do with romance.
