No rush.
Meanwhile, someone had picked kitchen cabinets.
Someone had chosen tile.
Someone knew.
I looked at David.
“When was the offer made?”
“Six weeks ago.”
Six weeks.
My mother had already been staying with us.
Six weeks earlier, Brandon had brought her coffee one morning and asked whether she was sleeping okay.
Six weeks earlier, he had kissed me before work and said, “Soon, Han. We’re getting close.”
Getting close.
He hadn’t been talking about our house.
He had been talking about his.
I went numb.
Then Claire asked, “Who’s the second LLC?”
David’s mouth tightened.
“That gets worse.”
The company was called Briar Rose Consulting.
Registered agent: Natalie Mercer.
I knew the name.
Everyone in Brandon’s family did.
Natalie wasn’t a Mercer by marriage.
She had changed her surname three months earlier.
Before that, she was Natalie Price.
Brandon’s former girlfriend.
The woman he had dated for four years before me.
I felt something cold move through my body.
“No.”
Claire didn’t touch me.
She knew better.
“No,” I said again.
David turned another document.
Briar Rose’s address matched the Oak Creek property.
I stared at the screen until the letters blurred.
“Is he with her?”
Nobody answered.
That was answer enough.
I drove to my office afterward because I couldn’t bear the hotel.
I worked as an operations director for a medical equipment company, and my private office looked absurdly normal.
Calendar on the wall.
Coffee cup.
A photograph of Brandon and me at Lake Geneva.
I picked it up.
We looked happy.
That was the cruelest part.
I believe we were happy.
At least I was.
I sat down and searched my email.
“Northstar.”
Nothing.
“Briar Rose.”
Nothing.
“Natalie.”
Three results.
Old Christmas party messages.
Then I searched Brandon’s email address.
Hundreds of conversations.
Bills.
Travel plans.
Receipts.
I scrolled.
One subject caught my attention.
“Insurance update.”
