“It wasn’t supposed to become this.”
“What was it supposed to become?” I asked.
No one answered.
I turned to the next section of the folder.
The villa used a smart entry system.
Every code produced a dated record.
Andrew had his own code because he was my husband and I had trusted him.
Twelve unauthorized visits appeared on the printout.
Beside each date, I had placed the explanation he gave me at the time.
Client dinner.
Delayed flight.
Golf weekend.
Emergency meeting.
The fourth visit occurred on my birthday, when Andrew claimed he was stranded in Chicago.
The seventh fell on Leo and Natalie’s anniversary.
The ninth was three days after Andrew told me we could not afford a weekend away together.
I slid the pages across the table.
Andrew did not touch them.
Natalie did.
Her eyes moved down the list.
“You brought someone else here in March?”
Andrew’s head snapped toward her.
“What?”
“This code was used in March.
I wasn’t here.”
A new silence entered the room.
I had noticed that date too.
I had no photograph proving another woman had entered.
Only a record showing Andrew had visited when both Natalie and I were elsewhere.
He began speaking too quickly.
“I came up alone.
I needed space.”
Natalie laughed once, without humor.
“You told me you hated being here alone.”
“That doesn’t mean I never was.”
“Who was with you?”
“No one.”
“Show me your phone.”
The request was almost funny.
Andrew stared at her.
“You don’t get to interrogate me.”
Her face hardened.
“I blew up my marriage for you.”
“No,” Leo said.
“You blew it up for yourself.”
Natalie turned on him.
“You were never home.”
“I was building the company that paid for the life you told everyone you earned.”
“You cared more about buildings than me.”
I looked at Andrew.
He had used almost the same sentence about my spreadsheets.
Different affair.
Same script.
The betrayed spouse was always too busy, too cold, too responsible.
The person lying was always the neglected hero of a story no one else had agreed to join.
Andrew must have seen the recognition on my face.
