Chapter 2 - She Knew My Name
The strangest part was that Daniel didn’t reach me first.
She did.
I watched the woman come down the VIP terrace stairs with Daniel following several feet behind her, his face pale enough that even Rachel noticed.
“That doesn’t look like a man trying to protect his mistress,” Rachel murmured.
I couldn’t answer.
The woman stopped in front of me.
Up close, she looked younger than I’d expected. Maybe twenty-eight. Dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail, expensive gold hoops, almost no makeup.
And Daniel’s jacket.
She stared at me as though she had seen a ghost.
“Emily?”
My stomach dropped.
I had never met her.
“How do you know my name?”
She looked over her shoulder.
Daniel had stopped ten feet away.
“Daniel,” she whispered. “You told me she wasn’t coming.”
Rachel moved beside me.
I laughed once, but there was nothing funny in it.
“Oh, that’s fantastic.”
“No.” Daniel lifted both hands. “Emily, please. It isn’t what you think.”
I stared at him.
“Did you kiss her?”
His mouth opened.
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
The word cut cleanly.
“Then unless I’ve recently forgotten what kissing means, I’m pretty comfortable with what I think.”
The woman suddenly pulled off his jacket.
She shoved it against his chest.
“You said you were separated.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
Everything around us seemed to disappear.
The champagne.
The race.
The engines.
Thousands of spectators.
All I heard was that sentence.
You said you were separated.
I looked at him.
“You told her what?”
“Emily—”
“How long?”
He said nothing.
The woman answered.
“Four months.”
Rachel swore under her breath.
Four months.
I mentally traveled backward through my own marriage.
Four months ago Daniel had taken me to our anniversary dinner.
Three months ago we’d spent a weekend at my parents’ lake house.
Six weeks ago he had held me in bed while I cried after learning our latest fertility treatment had failed.
Four days ago he had kissed me in our kitchen.
That morning he’d asked me to buy milk.
Four months.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
The woman swallowed.
“Olivia Mercer.”
“Did you know he was married?”
“At first, yes. He told me the divorce was already being handled privately.”
“There is no divorce.”
Her face changed.
“I know that now.”
Daniel stepped forward.
“Can we please go somewhere private?”
“No.”
“Emily.”
“No.” My voice strengthened. “You lied in private. We can do the truth right here.”
People nearby had begun looking toward us.
Daniel noticed.
Of course he did.
Daniel always noticed who was watching.
He lowered his voice.
“There are things you don’t understand.”
Olivia stared at him.
“Then explain them.”
His jaw tightened.
For one strange second, I realized she was as angry as I was.
Maybe angrier.
That should have made me feel better.
It didn’t.
Then Olivia said something I wasn’t prepared for.
“Did you tell her about the apartment?”
My eyes snapped to Daniel.
“What apartment?”
He looked at Olivia.
“Stop.”
“What apartment?”
Olivia’s expression collapsed.
“Daniel has an apartment downtown.”
I almost laughed again.
My husband complained about our mortgage twice a week.
Apparently he had found room in the budget for another home.
Rachel stepped toward him.
“You unbelievable—”
I caught her arm.
Not because Daniel deserved protection.
Because I wanted answers.
“How much?” I asked Olivia.
“What?”
“How much time have you spent there?”
She hesitated.
“A lot.”
“With him?”
“Yes.”
I looked at Daniel.
His eyes were wet.
That almost made me furious.
He didn’t get to cry first.
“Was she there when you told me you were working late?”
“Sometimes.”
“Chicago?”
His silence answered.
“Boston?”
“Emily—”
“Your conference in Boston?”
“There wasn’t a conference.”
Something inside me became very quiet.
Not healed.
Not calm.
Just quiet.
I removed my wedding ring.
Daniel’s eyes dropped instantly to my hand.
“Don’t.”
One word.
Barely audible.
I looked at the gold band we had chosen together seven years earlier because we couldn’t afford the platinum one I liked.
We had laughed about it.
We had promised that someday, when we were rich and old and ridiculous, he would replace it.
I had never wanted it replaced.
Until now.
I put the ring into his palm.
His fingers curled automatically around it.
“Emily, please.”
“Don’t come home tonight.”
His face broke.
“Please don’t do this here.”
“You did this here.”
I turned.
Olivia caught my arm.
Very gently.
“There’s something else.”
Daniel’s head snapped toward her.
“Olivia.”
The fear in his voice stopped me.
Not anger.
Fear.
She looked at him.
“You owe her the truth.”
“I’ll tell her.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“You’ve had months.”
Daniel stepped between us.
“Not here.”
I stared at him.
“What could possibly be worse?”
Neither of them answered.
Then Olivia reached into her purse.
She pulled out her phone.
Daniel went white.
“Don’t.”
Olivia ignored him.
She opened a photograph.
For one second, I didn’t understand what I was looking at.
It was a hospital room.
Olivia was in bed.
Daniel sat beside her.
And in his arms was a newborn baby.
My knees almost gave out.
Rachel caught me.
“No,” Daniel said quickly. “Emily, listen to me.”
The baby looked tiny.
Maybe only hours old.
Daniel was staring down at him with an expression I knew.
Tenderness.
Wonder.
Love.
The expression I had imagined seeing on his face when we finally had a child of our own.
I couldn’t breathe.
“How old?”
Olivia looked at me.
“Six weeks.”
Six weeks.
Six weeks ago Daniel had held me while I cried over our failed fertility treatment.
Six weeks ago another woman had given birth to his son.
I looked at my husband.
He was crying now.
Actually crying.
“Is that your baby?”
Daniel wiped his face.
“Yes.”
The stadium erupted as two cars screamed past the finish line.
Thousands of people stood cheering.
I heard none of them.
Because Daniel looked at me and said the sentence that finally destroyed whatever remained of our marriage.
May you like
“His name is Noah.”
And somehow, impossibly, I already knew that name.
