We settled in the living room, me on the couch, them in matching armchairs, the coffee table between us like a negotiation table. The silence stretched uncomfortably until Patricia finally spoke. Rachel told us you're filing for divorce. That's correct, she said. Patricia glanced at her husband, drew strength from him.
She said you've been having problems for a while, that you'd grown apart, that you both decided it was best to end things before they got worse. I nodded slowly. Is that what she said? Yes. And we want you to know, James, that we don't blame you.
These things happen. Sometimes people change. Sometimes marriages don't work out. And Patricia, I set down the water glass I hadn't drunk from. I appreciate what you're trying to do, but that's not what happened.
She blinked. I'm sorry. Rachel and I didn't mutually decide to end our marriage. Rachel had a six-month affair with a coworker named Marcus Chen. When I discovered it and confronted her with evidence, she signed divorce papers.
That's what happened. The silence that followed was absolute. Patricia's face went white. Richard's jaw clenched so hard I could hear his teeth grind. That's not Patricia started.
Rachel said there was no one else. She said you were both just unhappy. I pulled out my phone, opened the photo album I'd prepared for exactly this conversation. I'm going to show you something. And I need you to understand that I'm not doing this to hurt you.
I'm doing it because you deserve to know the truth. I handed Patricia the phone. On the screen was the photo Marcus had accidentally sent. Rachel and him at the beachside restaurant, her hand on his arm, both of them looking like a couple. Patricia stared at it, her hand trembling.
This was taken two weeks ago in the Bahamas while Rachel told us she was at a work conference in Orlando. I swiped to the next photo. This is them at the resort pool, and this is a hotel room key card charged to Marcus' credit card for a 2-way stay. Patricia passed the phone to Richard with shaking hands. He looked at each photo with the methodical care of someone cataloging evidence, his face getting redder with each swipe.
How long have you known? He asked finally. I found out the day she got back from the trip. I'd suspected for a few weeks before that, but the accidental photo confirmed everything. And you what?
You confronted her? She admitted it. Eventually, after I asked her one question that made her panic and run to a doctor's office after I laid out 6 months of evidence. Yes, she admitted everything. Patricia was crying now.