Not the accusation.
Not the evidence
But that secret had affected his son.
"I shouldn't have said anything," he murmured.
I felt a silent anger course through my body.
—You shouldn't have put him in that situation.
Daniel suddenly stood up.
—It's not what you think.
The universal phrase of the guilty party.
—Then explain it to me.
Eternal seconds passed.
Finally, his shoulders slumped
—Her name is Clara.
The name sounded strange in my kitchen.
—It started six months ago.
Six months.
Six months of shared breakfasts, of feigned hugs, of empty promises.
“It wasn’t going to last,” he added, almost as an excuse.
—But it lasted long enough for our son to get involved.
That left him speechless.
"I thought I could handle it," she whispered.
—Manage what? A double life?
I looked at him with a clarity I had never had before.
It wasn't just about infidelity.
It was a betrayal of trust.
It was about using my routine as an alibi.
It was the burden that fell on Ethan.
"Do you love her?" I asked.
He hesitated.
And that hesitation was more eloquent than any confession
-I don't know.
—I do know one thing,—I replied firmly. —I can't live like this.
That night we slept in separate rooms
See continues on the next page
The next morning, I continued with my routine.
I took Daniel and Ethan to the station.
But this time, when Daniel got out of the car, I looked at him one last time as if he were a husband.
