For the rest of the morning, Marcus followed me through the house apologizing.
His story quickly became polished.
One affair.
One angry woman.
One terrible decision.
Already over.
By noon, he had apologized so many times that the word sorry no longer meant anything.
But I kept thinking about two words from the message.
Only Olivia.
Not, If he mentions Olivia.
Not, If he admits there was a woman named Olivia.
Only.
At 5:42 that afternoon, I picked up my bag and left.
Marcus asked where I was going.
“I need some space.”
The address led to a small coffee shop about twenty minutes away.
Quiet.
Tucked along a side street.
The kind of place people visited when they didn’t want much attention.
When I entered, a woman near the back stood.
Beside her sat six other women.
Every one of them was looking directly at me.
Seven women.
Two tables pushed together.
Some looked angry.
One refused to meet my eyes.
Another slowly turned her coffee cup in circles without drinking.
The woman who had stood gestured toward an empty chair.
“Danielle?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Tessa.”
My legs suddenly felt weak.
I sat down.
“What is this?”
Tessa looked at the others.
“We’re sorry.”
“For what?”
“For the way you had to find out.”
I looked around the table.
“Find out what exactly?”
Tessa placed her phone in front of her.
“Marcus told you about Olivia?”
I didn’t answer.
“He always admits to whichever woman you already know about,” she said.
“That’s his method.”
I felt my stomach drop.
“You discover one person, he admits to one person, and then you think you finally know everything.”
Tessa opened a folder on her phone.
Marcus’s name appeared at the top.
Then his photograph.
He was wearing the gray shirt I had bought him for his birthday.
