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The door opens again, and this time John comes into view. He’s holding a woman’s hand. She’s wearing a red dress and has long blonde hair. She’s young and beautiful.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
Rebecca watches, and I take her hand in mine.
They walk to his car. He opens up the passenger door for her. He pushes her up against it and kisses her deeply. He says something, and the woman laughs out loud.
“I know her,” Rebecca whispers through tears.
My eyes flick to her. “Who is it?”
“Her name is Mia.”
My heart sinks. “How do you know her?”
“She’s his secretary.”
We watch as they drive away, and sit in silence, both in shock.
“I’m so sorry, Bec,” I whisper.
She starts the car. “Not as sorry as he’s going to be.” We pull out into the traffic and drive home in silence. I’m holding her hand in her lap.
“What are you going to do?” I whisper.
She shrugs as she grips the steering wheel with white-knuckle force.
“Stay at my house tonight, okay?” I squeeze her hand.
“No.” She keeps her eyes on the road. “I’m dealing with this tonight.”
“Just wait.”
“For what?”
“For him to come home.”
Oh hell . . .
We drive into our street and pull up in her driveway. She hits the remote, and the garage door goes up, and we drive in.
“You can go home,” she says calmly. “Thanks for coming with me.”
I feel like I shouldn’t be witnessing this, that it’s a private matter, but then I’m not leaving her alone with the douchebag.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her. “I’m waiting with you.”
She gives me a sad smile and gets out of the car and walks inside.
Two hours later
Rebecca paces as I sit on her couch. The house is silent and sad, lit only by the lamp.
She doesn’t want him to know she’s still awake when he comes in.
Neither of us is saying anything. We both know that this is the end of her marriage, and what could you possibly say to make this better?
Rebecca stares into space. “He’s having sex with her right now,” she whispers.
