Then perfume that didn’t belong to me.
Then the sudden explosion of “client dinners” that lasted until two in the morning.
Her name was Brooke.
Twenty-six years old.
She worked at the same firm where Grant was a junior partner.
And from everything I had been able to learn, Brooke didn’t even realize at first that the man she was seeing still had a wife at home.
A wife managing his house.
His social calendar.
His family obligations.
And a marriage she still believed was worth saving.
I looked toward Grant.
He stood at the edge of the group adjusting his gray suit jacket.
The same suit I had helped him choose at a tailor on Peachtree.
The same suit he had worn to his father’s funeral.
The same one he wore to mine.
And now the same suit he wore while our marriage officially ended.
I waited for him to say something.
