my husband shouting, “Then your mother can pay ten thousand dollars, or both of you can get out.”
I dropped my keys.
Sophie stood beside the kitchen island, crying so hard she could barely breathe, her small hands clenched against her school uniform. My husband, Derek, towered over her, his face red with anger.
And beside him stood Vanessa.
His mistress.
I had suspected her existence for three months. I simply hadn’t expected to find her drinking wine in my kitchen.
A shimmering silver evening dress was spread across the
