Chapter 4 - ANDREW CAME HOME EARLY
Andrew returned from the cottage ninety minutes later.
He entered through the garage as though nothing unusual had happened.
No apology.
No explanation.
He placed his keys on the counter and looked at Michael.
Then he saw the photographs.
His face lost color.
“You.”
Michael folded his arms.
“Yes.”
Andrew looked at me.
“Claire, whatever he told you—”
I held up one hand.
“Do not insult me by beginning with a lie.”
Lorraine moved toward him.
“Andrew, tell her those pictures don’t mean what she thinks.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
That tiny movement answered everything.
“How long?” I asked.
“Claire.”
“How long?”
He glanced at Michael.
“Can we discuss this privately?”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“Eleven months?”
He said nothing.
Michael answered for him.
“At least.”
I placed the refinance printout on the counter.
Andrew looked down.
That frightened him more than the affair photographs.
“You contacted the lender.”
“Yes.”
“You had no right to interfere with—”
I actually laughed.
“My house?”
“Our house.”
“My name is on the deed.”
“We are married.”
“And you tried to submit my signature without permission.”
“That was not what happened.”
“Then explain it.”
Andrew paced toward the window.
“I was trying to consolidate debt.”
“Whose debt?”
“Ours.”
“I don’t have two hundred seventy-five thousand dollars in debt.”
He turned.
“It would have helped us.”
“Would Brooke have helped us too?”
His face hardened.
Michael stepped forward.
I stopped him with a glance.
I did not want a fight.
I wanted Andrew talking.
“You told Brooke I would sign because I sign whatever you put in front of me.”
Andrew looked at Michael.
“You invaded private conversations.”
Michael’s voice became dangerously calm.
“You were having private conversations with my wife.”
Lorraine suddenly began crying.
Not because her son had betrayed his marriage.
Because consequences had entered the kitchen.
“This family is falling apart.”
I looked at her.
“You threw a cast-iron pot at my head this morning.”
She immediately stopped crying.
“It slipped.”
Andrew turned toward me.
“What pot?”
I showed him the photograph.
The dent in the headboard.
The pot on the floor.
The measured distance from my pillow.
His expression changed.
But not in the way I hoped.
He looked at Lorraine.
“Mom, you have to be more careful.”
More careful.
Not horrified.
Not furious.
Not even surprised.
That was the moment the last small part of my marriage died.
I took my wedding ring off.
I placed it beside his keys.
“You and your mother need to find somewhere else to live.”
Andrew stared at me.
Then he smiled.
“You really think you can throw me out?”
May you like
He reached into his briefcase.
“I already hired a lawyer.”
