“That helps.”

“I mean—”

“No. Explain the schedule. Maybe Tuesdays and Thursdays were more respectful.”

He stopped.

Nicole whispered, “I'm sorry.”

I looked at her.

“Why were you under the bed?”

Neither answered.

That question suddenly mattered.

If Jason and Nicole had been having an affair for two years, hiding under the bed was ridiculous.

Why not simply leave?

Why was she still there during dinner?

Jason had been downstairs for almost an hour.

Something didn't make sense.

“Why didn't you leave before we came home?”

Nicole looked at Jason.

He answered.

“She got here after you.”

I stared.

“What?”

Nicole closed her eyes.

The story changed again.

“When did she get here?”

“About four.”

We had arrived home from my mother's house at 3:30.

I had been downstairs making dinner.

The children were home.

Jason had gone upstairs, claiming he needed to take a business call.

“You brought your mistress into our house while I was downstairs?”

“No.”

“Then how did she get here?”

“She came herself.”

“Why?”

Nicole whispered, “I needed to talk to him.”

“About what?”

Jason said, “Not now.”

I looked at him.

“Wrong answer.”

Nicole looked toward the hallway.

“Can I please leave?”

“No.”

Jason stepped between us.

“She doesn't owe you—”

I stared at him.

He stopped.

“Finish that sentence.”

He didn't.

I looked at Nicole.

“What did you need to talk about so badly that you entered my house while my children were here and hid under my bed?”

She began crying again.

Then she placed one hand over her stomach.

I saw it.

A small movement.

Protective.

Automatic.

I understood before she spoke.

“No.”

Nicole whispered:

“I'm pregnant.”

For the second time that night, the floor seemed to disappear beneath me.

Jason closed his eyes.

“How far?”

“Eleven weeks.”

I looked at him.

“Yours?”

Neither answered.

I laughed.

Again.

That strange, empty laugh.

“Of course.”

Nicole said quietly, “I found out three weeks ago.”

I stared.

“And?”

“He told me he'd tell you.”

I looked at Jason.

“When?”

He said nothing.

Nicole continued.

“He kept asking for more time.”

“What happened today?”

She wiped her face.

“I told him I couldn't keep doing this.”

Jason snapped, “Nicole.”

“No.”

She turned toward him.

“You told me you'd already spoken to a lawyer.”

My stomach tightened.

He looked at her.

“Stop.”

“You said you were leaving.”

I looked at Jason.

“A lawyer?”

Silence.

“You've seen a divorce lawyer?”

He didn't answer.

I already knew.

“When?”

“Four months ago.”

Four months.

Before Nicole was pregnant.

He had planned this.

I looked at the house around me.

My house.

Our bed.

Our children downstairs.

How much of my life had been decided without me?

Nicole grabbed her purse from behind the chair.

“I need to go.”

I stepped aside.

This time I let her.

She put on her shoes.

Before she reached the door, I asked:

“Does your husband know?”

She stopped.

I had met Nicole's husband, Mark, at company events.

Quiet man.

Electrician.

They had been married around five years.

Nicole did not turn around.

“No.”

Another family.

Another dinner table.

Another person who had no idea.

Jason said, “Samantha.”

I looked at him.

“Get out.”

“This is my house.”

“I don't care.”

“We need to talk.”

“Go stay with Nicole.”

His face changed.

“I can't.”

I almost smiled.

“Why?”

He looked away.

Then Nicole answered from the hallway.

“Because I told him I'm not leaving Mark.”

Jason stared at her.

I did too.

For one second, our positions became almost absurd.

My husband's mistress was pregnant.

My husband had hired a divorce lawyer.

And she had no intention of leaving her own husband.

Jason looked furious.

“You said we would discuss it.”

“I said I needed time.”

“You came here demanding I tell Samantha.”

“Because the baby changes things.”

“Exactly.”

“No.”

Nicole shook her head.

“The baby changes what we have to admit. It doesn't mean I want to marry you.”

Jason's face collapsed.

I should have enjoyed that.

I didn't.

Everything was too ugly.

Nicole left.

The front door closed downstairs.

A few seconds later, Emily shouted:

“Who was that?”

I looked at Jason.

“Your office manager.”

He looked at me.

“Don't.”

That word again.

Always don't.

Don't look.

Don't ask.

Don't tell.

Don't make a scene.

I walked downstairs.

My children deserved one adult who stopped hiding things.

Emily knew immediately.

The moment she saw my face.

“Dad cheated.”

It wasn't a question.

Oliver looked between us.

“What does cheated mean?”

I sat beside him.

Jason remained near the doorway.

“Dad made a promise to Mom and broke it.”

Oliver frowned.

“Like when I promised not to draw on the wall?”

I almost cried.

“Bigger.”

He looked at Jason.

“Is the lady his girlfriend?”

Jason closed his eyes.

Emily began crying.

“That is disgusting.”

“Emily,” Jason said.

“No.”

She backed away from him.

“You brought her here?”

“It's complicated.”

“Under your bed?”

Jason looked toward me.

As though I had arranged the situation to humiliate him.

Emily's voice rose.

“Mom was downstairs.”

“I know.”

“Oliver was here.”

“I know.”

“You're insane.”

“Don't speak to me like that.”

Emily laughed.

“You're worried about manners?”

I put my hand on her arm.

“Upstairs.”

She looked at me.

“Mom—”

“Please.”

She took Oliver with her.

As soon as they were gone, I turned toward Jason.

“Tell me everything.”

He sat.

I stayed standing.

“How did it start?”

“At work.”

“That is not an answer.”

“We were spending a lot of time together.”

“Two years ago?”

“Yes.”

“Was anything wrong with us?”

He hesitated.

That hesitation hurt.

“Nothing dramatic.”

“So?”

“I felt invisible.”

I stared.

“Invisible?”

“You were always busy.”

“With what?”

“The kids. Your mom. Work.”

I almost laughed.

My mother had undergone knee surgery that year.