Normal mother things.
Then I sent him to my sister's house under the excuse that I had a migraine.
I wasn't having this conversation with Daniel while our son was upstairs.
Daniel came home at 5:42 p.m.
Early.
He usually arrived after seven.
He walked into the kitchen and stopped when he saw the printed photographs on the table.
I had printed them because somehow I needed them to exist physically.
He looked at me.
"Where's Ben?"
"Claire's."
He nodded slowly.
"Okay."
"Sit down."
"Laura—"
"Sit."
He sat.
I pushed the first picture toward him.
"Who is she?"
He rubbed his face.
"Melissa."
"How do you know her?"
"Through work."
"She doesn't work there."
"No."
"Then how?"
He looked at the table.
"She does consulting for one of our vendors."
"Are you sleeping with her?"
"No."
That came fast. Too fast?
