“What does that mean?”
“It means I understand.”
“Natalie, nobody wants to destroy our marriage.”
I looked at him.
“You’ve been having an affair for eight months.”
“That doesn’t mean everything between us was fake.”
“No. It just means everything between us became optional to you.”
He sighed.
“This is what I mean.”
“What?”
“You always have to make everything so black and white.”
I stared at him.
“My husband sleeping with my best friend feels fairly black and white.”
“You haven’t been happy either.”
There it was.
The justification.
Grant paced toward the windows.
“We haven’t connected in a long time. You’re always working. You’re always questioning everything I do. Every conversation becomes a discussion about schedules, money, plans—”
“And Vanessa made life easier?”
He didn’t answer.
Vanessa did.
“We didn’t plan this.”
I looked at her.
“You planned enough to delete the messages.”
Her face collapsed.
Grant snapped, “Stop attacking her.”
I laughed again.
He had just admitted it, and somehow I had already become the aggressor.
“Grant.”
“What?”
“Move.”
“Where are you going?”
“To pack.”
His confidence flickered.
“Natalie, don’t be ridiculous.”
I walked into our bedroom and pulled a suitcase from the closet.
Laptop.
Passport.
Documents.
Two hard drives.
Jewelry.
Medication.
Tax records.
A folder containing the purchase documents for the apartment.
Grant followed me.
“You’re seriously leaving tonight?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t make a decision like this while you’re emotional.”
I stopped packing.
“You slept with my best friend for eight months, and you think the problem is that I’m making decisions too quickly?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s exactly what you said.”
Vanessa appeared behind him.
