“How long?”
Paige answered.
“About seven months.”
Seven months.
The number struck me harder than I expected.
Seven months of invented meetings.
Seven months of phone calls in the garage.
Seven months of nights when Sophie asked whether Daddy would make it home before bedtime.
Grant nodded.
“And what exactly did Evan tell you about his personal life?”
Evan’s head snapped toward him.
“Sir, I don’t think—”
“I wasn’t asking you.”
The atmosphere changed instantly.
Paige frowned.
“He’s divorced.”
Silence spread outward from the stage.
My heartbeat seemed unbearably loud.
Grant tilted his head.
“Divorced?”
Paige looked at Evan.
“Well… separated. Basically divorced.”
Evan whispered something I couldn’t hear.
Grant lifted the microphone again.
“That’s interesting.”
Then he turned toward me.
“Brooke?”
Evan closed his eyes.
It was over.
I walked forward.
People moved aside.
My heels clicked against the stone steps as I joined them onstage.
Paige stared at me.
“Who is she?”
Grant handed me the microphone.
I didn’t take it.
I didn’t need amplification.
“My name is Brooke Mercer.”
Paige looked from me to Evan.
Then back.
I continued.
“Evan and I celebrated our eleventh wedding anniversary four months ago.”
Her face emptied.
“No.”
“We share a house.”
“No.”
“We share bank accounts.”
She took one step backward.
“And we have an eight-year-old daughter named Sophie.”
Paige’s eyes filled instantly.
She turned toward Evan.
“You said she left you.”
He looked around desperately.
“Paige, listen—”
“You said you hadn’t lived together in almost a year.”
“It’s complicated.”
I almost laughed.
The same phrase.
Different woman.
Same lie.
