No wasted sympathy. Just straight to the practical question. I need you to not take sides publicly yet. Let her tell her story. Let Marcus tell his.
Let them think they're controlling the narrative. Why? Because people always tell more trust when they think they're getting away with lies. And I need to know exactly what story they're selling before I show everyone the receipts. This is David.
Stop. This is really calculated, man. Are you okay? No, I said honestly. I'm not okay.
My wife spent the last 6 months building a life with someone else while I was here being faithful and trusting and stupid. But I will be okay eventually. And when I am, I want to be able to look back and know I handled this the right way. Not the angry way, not the revenge way, the right way. The right way, David repeated slowly.
In what way is that? The way where everyone knows exactly what happened. Where she can't rewrite history or play the victim? Where our friends and family understand that I didn't give up on our marriage? She did.
Where if our kids ask about this someday? You don't have kids? Not yet. But we were trying. I took a sip of coffee.
Felt it burn. She was on fertility treatments. David, we've been trying for a year. All those doctors appointments, all those hopes and disappointments, and the whole time she was sleeping with Marcus. I heard him breathe out slowly.
That's That's really dark, James. Truth usually is. We talked for a few more minutes about logistics. He'd come by later. We'd go through everything.
He'd help me think through next steps. When we hung up, I felt marginally more human. One friend who knew the truth. One person who wouldn't look at me with pity or suspicion. My phone buzzed.
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.