Page 110 of Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar 2)

He opened his mouth but clamped it shut with a snap.

“Everything that happened. All of it. I thought you were done. I thought you didn’t care. I thought we were over.”

And instead of telling me, or showing me that he cared, he’d turned to blank pages. He’d given the pen and the ink his feelings.

He hadn’t trusted them to his wife.

“We weren’t over, Molly. We were still married. You were still my wife.”

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” My agreement caught him off guard. I guess he’d been expecting me to argue, but I had still been his wife. And I’d betrayed him.

We’d betrayed each other.

“I don’t say this because I am making an excuse,” I said. “But, Finn, that might have broken you. But you crushed me that night.”

“What night?” he asked.

“The night. The night of Lanie’s bachelorette party.”

His forehead furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“I came to Alcott that night. Before the party. I was all dressed up in that black dress you always loved. I thought, I had a babysitter, you were alone, and maybe what we needed was a night to ourselves. No distractions. Just you and me remembering that we loved each other.”

I’d spent an hour on my hair, taming the curls. I’d watched three YouTube videos to learn how to get that smoky-eye look with some charcoal eyeliner.

Finn shook his head, trying to remember. “You never came there.”

“I did. You weren’t alone.”

“Who . . .” His face fell as he answered his own question. “Bridget.”

“She was there. Cuddled up to your side as you watched a movie in the loft.”

Bridget and her tight little body. She’d fit well into Finn’s side. Maybe that was why I hated her so much. She fit with Finn.

And I . . . I was just a woman who’d spent hours getting ready to impress a man whose gaze had already wandered.

“Molly.” He held up his hands. “There has never been anything between Bridget and me. I swear.”

Was he lying? I searched his face, every crease. Every angle. He was telling the truth. “You swear?”

“On Jamie’s grave,” he said with a sure nod. “I have never touched Bridget in that way.”

The relief made my knees weak. I’d always wondered . . . but the way Finn had reacted after my one-night stand convinced me he’d never done anything with Bridget. He wasn’t the kind of man who’d punish me for a mistake he’d already made himself.

But then there were the years after the divorce. They worked late together. They were close. I’d convinced myself years ago that they’d had something going on at one point or another.

The image of them cuddled together that night was one I’d never forget.

“I came up the stairs. Quietly, I guess. Or else the TV was too loud because you didn’t hear me. I froze when I saw you both together.”

“She kept me company. That was all.”

“Kept you company? She was there, inches away from you, ripping me to shreds. Your wife. And you just sat there.”

“What? No.” Finn shook his head. “I wouldn’t let her run you down.”

I fumed. Wasn’t this conversation about honesty?