“Do you believe you have a hidden family in Idaho?”
“I don’t remember ever visiting Idaho.”
“You dislike potatoes.”
“That would not hold up in court.”
I tried not to smile.
He was genuinely frightened.
“What if I was different before?” he asked. “In some way no one has told me.”
“Different how?”
“What if I was unfaithful?”
“You weren’t.”
“You cannot account for every hour of my life.”
“I knew you.”
“You knew someone who remembered choosing you.”
“And I know the man who chose me again.”
His jaw tightened.
“That isn’t evidence.”
“No.”
I crossed the office and held out my hand for his phone.
He surrendered it.
“What are you afraid the test will tell you?”
“That there was a part of my life you never knew about.”
I placed the phone on the desk.
“There were parts of your life I didn’t know.”
His face changed.
I touched his arm before fear could turn the statement into something else.
“Everyone has private thoughts. Bad mornings. Conversations they don’t repeat. Small failures. Irrational resentment. None of that is betrayal.”
“No affair?”
“No.”
“No other relationship?”
“You barely had time to maintain one.”
