Daniel released him but held his ground. “You used company money to cheat on your wife with mine. Congratulations, Andrew. You managed to destroy four lives at once.”
Andrew’s eyes were wild. “You don’t know anything about my life.”
I had never seen him fall apart in public. At home, Andrew was controlled. Strategic. Polished. The kind of man who corrected grammar in texts and sorted receipts by size. But there, under the warm amber lights of a downtown restaurant, he looked exactly like what he was: a man who had run out of lies.
Melissa turned to Vanessa. “Mrs. Mercer, I recommend you keep copies of any financial statements tied to joint accounts.”
Vanessa looked at Daniel, then at me. For the first time, real fear filled her eyes.
I should have felt victorious. Instead, I felt empty.
The gift bag still hung from my wrist.
I placed it on the table in front of Andrew.
“Happy anniversary,” I said.
Then I walked out.
The cold hit me the moment I stepped onto the sidewalk.
Chicago in March made heartbreak feel physical. The wind cut through my coat, my skin, whatever fragile structure had kept me upright for the last twenty minutes. I made it halfway to the corner before my knees weakened.
Daniel caught up but kept a respectful distance.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I stared at the passing traffic. “Which part?”
He gave a hollow laugh. “Take your pick.”
For a while, we said nothing. Cars passed. Somewhere behind us, a siren rose and faded. Through the restaurant windows, I could still see movement—staff, guests, shadows shifting in agitation. Andrew was probably still arguing. Men like him always believed disaster was negotiable.
