I turned toward her.
“Don’t.”
“I can explain.”
“Great. Explain why you arrived seven minutes after my husband supposedly told you his wife was gone.”
“I was already downtown.”
“Convenient.”
“I had dinner nearby.”
“Where?”
She hesitated.
That was enough.
Grant stepped forward.
“Everybody needs to calm down.”
“Everybody?”
“Natalie—”
“There are only two people in this hallway who should be nervous.”
Vanessa wiped beneath one eye.
“I never wanted you to get hurt.”
The sentence was almost impressive.
“You’ve been sleeping with my husband and your concern is that I might get hurt?”
She looked down.
Grant rubbed both hands over his face.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
I stared at him.
“How was it supposed to happen?”
Silence.
“You were going to tell me eventually?”
“Natalie.”
“How long?”
Grant said nothing.
I looked at Vanessa.
“How long?”
Her mouth trembled.
Grant answered.
“About eight months.”
Eight months.
Something inside me went perfectly still.
Eight months meant our anniversary.
Eight months meant the weekend in Aspen when Grant told me he needed “time with the guys.”
Eight months meant Vanessa had sat across from me at Thanksgiving dinner asking whether Grant and I were trying for children.
Eight months meant she had given me a birthday card that said:
To the sister life gave me.
I looked at her.
“You sat in this apartment and called me your sister.”
Vanessa started crying harder.
“Natalie, I love him.”
Grant’s eyes moved toward her.
And that was the moment I understood the entire situation.
They weren’t ashamed.
They believed they had a love story.
I was simply the unpleasant obstacle standing in the middle of it.
Grant took Vanessa gently by the elbow.
Not me.
Her.
He guided her farther inside.
Protective.
Instinctive.
I watched him do it.
Then I nodded.
“Okay.”
Grant frowned.
