Adrian watched.
That hurt more than he expected.
Not the touch itself.
The instinct.
Even now, with her husband standing ten feet away, Simone reached toward the other man for stability.
Malik gently removed her hand.
“I’m leaving.”
Simone whispered:
“Please.”
He looked at Adrian.
Then back at her.
“No.”
He left.
The mudroom door closed.
Adrian heard the garage.
Then, eventually, the mower starting outside.
That almost made him laugh.
The absurdity.
The man who had just been holding Adrian’s wife walked back outside and resumed cutting the lawn because apparently the front yard still needed finishing.
Simone spoke first.
“It’s not what you think.”
Adrian stared.
She closed her eyes immediately.
“I know.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“I mean—it is, but…”
Adrian waited.
There were sentences people used because movies had trained them.
It’s not what you think.
It only happened once.
I can explain.
It didn’t mean anything.
He wondered which would come next.
Simone surprised him.
“I’m in love with him.”
Adrian felt the words enter physically.
Not pain at first.
Pressure.
He leaned one hand against the kitchen chair.
“How long?”
She began crying.
“Adrian.”
“How long?”
“Eight months.”
His eyes closed.
Eight months.
Christmas.
Jordan’s birthday.
Their anniversary.
Maya’s school recital.
Thanksgiving at Simone’s mother’s house.
Eight months contained a lot of ordinary photographs.
“How long physically?”
Simone looked down.
“Six.”
Adrian laughed once.
Quietly.
“So two months of emotional integrity.”
“That isn’t fair.”
He looked at her.
She almost laughed from disbelief at herself.
“No.”
She shook her head.
“That was stupid.”
“Yes.”
Adrian sat.
He did not trust his legs anymore.
Simone stood on the opposite side of the kitchen island.
“Are the kids at your mother’s?”
“Yes.”
“Until when?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Good.”
She flinched.
Adrian continued:
“They’re not coming home tonight.”
“Okay.”
He looked around the kitchen.
The wine.
The glasses.
The charcuterie board on the counter.
His stomach turned.
“You planned this.”
Simone wiped her face.
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Just today?”
“Yes.”
“This morning.”
He stared.
She corrected herself.
“No.”
“What?”
“We talked last night.”
Adrian looked away.
Last night Simone had sat beside him in bed scrolling through her phone.
He had asked whether she wanted breakfast together before he left.
She said she had a Pilates class.
He remembered.
“Was Pilates Malik?”
“No.”
She answered quickly.
“I actually go.”
The unnecessary detail almost broke something in Adrian.
He laughed.
Simone started crying harder.
“Please don’t.”
“What?”
“Make every part of my life dirty.”
Adrian stared.
“I’m making it dirty?”