The envelope rested across my knees.
My name was written on it.
Linda.
Michael had always formed the L with an unnecessarily long loop.
I used to tease him about it.
I had signed birthday cards beside that handwriting.
Read grocery lists in it.
Found anniversary notes on my pillow written in it.
Now even his penmanship felt contaminated.
Susan moved toward me.
I raised one hand.
She stopped.
Good.
At least she still understood that gesture.
“Seventeen years,” I said.
Her face tightened.
“Yes.”
“How old is Emily?”
“Twenty-three.”
I looked at her.
That arithmetic did not match.
Susan understood immediately.
“The affair didn’t begin with Emily.”
That surprised me enough to look up.
“What?”
Susan swallowed.
“Emily was conceived before Michael and I became… what we became.”
I stared at her.
“That sentence means nothing.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
My voice finally rose.
