Rachel again. Can we please talk? I know you're angry, but we need to discuss this like adults. I almost laughed like adults, as if she hadn't spent half a year acting like a teenager sneaking around behind her parents' back. But she was right about one thing.
We did need to talk, not for her reasons, for mine. I texted back, "Come by at 2 p.m., bring Marcus. " The three dots appeared immediately, disappeared, appeared again. Then why would I bring Marcus? Because this involves him. Because I want everyone at the table.
Because I'm done in with separate conversations and managed truths. 2 p.m. Both of you. The dots appeared and disappeared several more times before she finally replied. Okay.
I spent the morning preparing. Not emotionally. There was no preparing for that. But practically, I cleared the dining room table, set out three chairs, laid out three copies of the folder I'd assembled, made it look less like our home and more like a deposition room, clinical, official, the kind of space where comfortable lies die under harsh fluorescent truth. At 1:30, David arrived with sandwiches I wouldn't eat, and emotional support I desperately needed.
He looked through the folder while I stared out the window and I heard him swearing softly as he turned pages. This is James. This is really thorough. I had 14 days with nothing to do but think and investigate. The text messages, he said, holding up a printed page.
Did you see this one from July 23rd? I had I had seen them all, including the one he was looking at where Rachel told Marcus that I was safe but boring and that being with him made her feel alive again. That one had been particularly hard to read at 3:00 in the morning while she was swimming in the Caribbean with the man who made her feel alive. I saw it, I said simply. And you still want to do this face to face?
You could just file for divorce. Let the lawyers handle everything. I could, but I need to see his face when he realizes I know everything. I need to watch them try to explain this while sitting in the house they betrayed. I need I stop trying to find the right words.
I need to witness this, David. Not as revenge, as closure, as confirmation that I'm not crazy for feeling betrayed, that what happened actually happened the way I think it did. He nodded slowly. I get it. I'll stay if you want backup.
No, this needs to be just the three of us, but thank you. At exactly 2:00, Rachel's car pulled up. She sat in the driver's seat for a long moment before getting out. No, Marcus. She walked to the door alone, knocked softly even though she still had her keys, waited for me to let her in like a guest in her own home.