“He didn’t tell me anything,” I replied, my voice shaking as I stood on the unfamiliar porch. The autumn wind bit at my face, but the icy chill settling in my chest had nothing to do with the weather.
The woman stepped back, her hand clutching the letter against her chest. “My name is Clara,” she said softly, opening the door wider to invite me inside. Her home was filled with light, quiet and immaculate, but the tension hanging in the air felt heavy enough to choke on.
As I walked into her living room, my eyes caught a small side table near the entryway. Framed photographs lined the polished wood. One picture in particular made my breath catch: it was Zane, wearing a blue canvas jacket I’d never seen before, smiling warmly beside Clara and a young man in a graduation gown. The boy had Zane’s dark, wavy hair and the exact same slight dimple on his right cheek.
“How long?” I managed to ask, staring at the photograph while the thirty-four years of my marriage seemed to splinter into a thousand sharp pieces. “How long did you know my husband?”
Clara poured a glass of water with trembling hands, setting it on the table in front of me. “It’s not what you think, Mrs. Vance. Zane wasn’t having an affair. But he was keeping a secret to protect the people he loved most.”
