“No, but secrets are secrets. Do not confront him without protecting yourself. Call a lawyer. Make copies of everything.”
When the call ended, I felt worse.
I picked up my phone and typed a message to my husband.
My hands were trembling so badly that I made several mistakes.
I found the apartment papers and the other phone. Do not come home on Sunday. Do not come home at all.
I pressed send.
Brandon called almost immediately.
I watched his name flash across the screen.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
On the fourth ring, I answered.
He was crying.
In seven years of marriage, I had never heard my husband cry.
“Cece, please,” he said. “Please wait until I come home. I swear it is not what you think.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
“I can’t explain this over the phone.”
“You’ve had plenty of chances to explain.”
“I love you. I love you and Alex more than anything. Please let me come home and tell you face-to-face.”
I could not speak.
I ended the call and slid down the hallway wall until I was sitting on the floor.
For the first time, I stopped trying to hide my tears.
