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“Technically.”

“Technically?”

I closed my eyes briefly. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?

“Klair.”

“Don’t get mad because I’m asking questions you clearly haven’t been asking.”

That pissed me off. “I have asked questions.”

“Apparently not the right fucking ones.”

“You don’t know the situation.”

“Oh, good. Here we go.”

“What?”

“‘You don’t know the situation.’” She made her voice deeper.

“‘Their marriage has been over for years. She doesn’t understand him. They sleep in separate rooms. He’s only staying because—’”

“Stop.”

My eyes burned. “It’s not like that.”

“Blair.”

“His wife has been dealing with infertility.”

Klair went quiet, so I continued before she could interrupt.

“It affected her badly with depression. Their marriage was already falling apart. She doesn’t have family of her own. His family is basically all she has, and when he tried talking about leaving before, she wasn’t mentally in a place—”

“Please stop.”

I did.

“Please,” Klair repeated. “Because you’re making it worse.”

My throat tightened. “I’m telling you what happened.”

“No. You’re telling me what he told you happened.”

I gripped the wheel harder. “You don’t know him.”

“And you don’t know his wife.”

That shut me up.

Klair sighed. “How long?”

“How long what?”

“Have you been seeing him?”