I leaned down and kissed Marcus on the temple.
“I’ll be home by seven. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I turned toward the door and caught Diane watching me.
Her mouth was pleasant. Her eyes were not.
For a half second, before her face rearranged itself into something softer, she looked almost satisfied. Like a woman who had already decided how a story was going to end and was simply waiting for the last page.
I stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind me.
And for the first time in two years, I wondered if every warm thing Diane had ever said to me had been a performance I was too trusting to see through.
When I came home that evening, the apartment was unnaturally quiet. The lingering smell of coffee hung in the air, but something felt wrong before I even reached the kitchen.
Marcus sat at the table with a manila folder in front of him.
Diane sat beside him, her hand resting over his like she was steadying a child through bad news.
