Something similar.
The teenager looked at me.
No anger was visible on her face.
Pure and simple guilt.
“I know,” he murmured. “He said you’d say that.”
I had a knot in my stomach.
“What are you talking about?”
He glanced towards the entrance of the gas station.
Then towards the road.
Finally, he turned towards me.
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he murmured, “but I couldn’t lie to you anymore.”
It was at that moment that my twenty-two-year marriage lost its sense of security.
My name is Rachel.
I am forty-seven years old.
David and I had been married for twenty-two years. We had two children in university, a small cabin on a lake that my father had bequeathed to us, a comfortable house, and a marriage that our friends described as “solid” and “unshakeable.”
David was a doctor.
I worked in a hospital.
We spent more than twenty years
