Sometimes, finding the truth requires building a lie carefully enough for someone else to reveal themselves. I had one weekend to learn whether my fiancé truly loved me or was making a calculated bet. All I needed was the right bait to expose him.
The kitchen was spotless again. I sat at the long oak table with roasted chicken on a plate and a glass of pinot beside it, the overhead light catching the polished edges of the silverware I had cleaned out of habit rather than need. Beyond the window, the maple trees were changing color, and I realized I had not spoken a single word aloud since locking my office that afternoon.
A senior partner at a firm that paid me more than I had ever imagined I could earn, living in a four-bedroom house I had purchased completely by myself.
And most nights, this was what dinner looked like.
My life had not always been this way.
My second husband walked away with most of my savings and left behind a note saying he needed to “find himself.”
After that, I stopped searching.
Until Richard.
