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Simon had arranged to meet Gina at the McDonald’s near the hospital, which had a children’s PlayPlace. I parked next to the tall windows and looked inside at a half-dozen little girls running around. One of them could be my husband’s daughter. My son’s half-sister. The thought made me feel like I might throw up right there in my car. I had to roll down the window to get some fresh air, then shut my eyes for a full five minutes in order for the overwhelming urge to vomit to pass enough to go inside.
Luckily, my feet were able to move me forward, even though my brain was screaming to run the other way. Opening the door from the restaurant to the kiddie area, I looked around the giant PlayPlace for a woman who fit the description that Simon had given me. To the right, there was a brunette sitting with a redheaded woman chatting—that could be her. Although I figured she would come alone. To the left was another brunette with her back to me, but she was sitting with twin boys who looked to be about three. I was beginning to breathe a little easier, relieved that maybe she hadn’t shown up, when I spotted a woman off in the corner near the ball pit sitting with a little girl. My heart started to hammer in my chest as I walked toward her. She was stunning. Simon had failed to mention that.
I considered turning around and leaving, but then a little boy about Brendan’s age walked by holding the hand of a little girl about Gina’s daughter’s age. They were probably siblings. My chest squeezed, and I knew I had to go through with it. I needed to know for my son’s sake, even if not for my own sanity.
Without giving myself another opportunity to back out, I walked over to the table where they were sitting. The woman looked up at me and smiled at first.
I stared until that smile morphed into concern. She wrapped her arm around her daughter protectively. “Can I help you?”
My voice was barely a whisper. “Are you Gina Delmonico?”
“Yes?”
When my gaze shifted to her daughter, searching for signs of my husband, signs of my son, she must’ve figured it out. Closing her eyes briefly, she nodded. “Yes, I’m Gina. You’re Bridget, aren’t you?”
I stood frozen while the woman spoke to her daughter. “Do you want to go in the ball pit?”
The little girl jumped up and down. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
“Okay, baby.” Gina stood and looked at me. “Excuse me a moment.” She disappeared to help her daughter into the ball pit, and then came back. Motioning to the side of the table she’d been sitting at, she said, “I need to be able to keep my eye on her while she’s in there. Do you mind if I sit on this side?”
I just kept standing there. After she settled into her seat, she looked up at me. “Do you want to speak to me, or did you just want to swab Olivia?”
“Olivia?”
“My daughter. I assumed that’s why you were here instead of Dr. Hogue.”
Blinking a few times, I finally snapped out of it and sat down. I don’t know what I’d expected—perhaps it was me screaming at her, or her running away from me when she realized who I was, but sitting down to speak in a civil manner was not it.
Gina at least had the decency to look embarrassed. Staring down at the cup of coffee on the table in front of her, she shook her head and let out a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry.”
“I didn’t come for an apology. I came because I need to know why. Why did he turn to you?”
“He didn’t love me. It was…just an affair…just…sex.”
Ben and I’d had a normal sex life; at least I thought we did. Sensing her answer wasn’t enough for me, Gina continued, “The only thing he ever told me about your marriage was that you were trying to get pregnant again. He’d told me that you guys struggled the first time and…well…he alluded to the fact that you had stopped having spontaneous sex and that it had become something more planned. I guess around your cycles and all. He didn’t go into details or anything.”
Ben and I had struggled to conceive Brendan, which resulted in fertility testing and my eventual diagnosis of polycystic ovary syndrome. A few years ago, we’d tried to get pregnant again. It was probably about a year before he died—which would have coincided with the start of his affair with this woman. During that time, our sex life was sort of scheduled in order to try and increase the chances of my conceiving at certain times. That was enough to make my husband stray?
I shook my head. “You knew he was married from the beginning?”
