“Where is Dad?”
“Daniel.”
“Where is he?”
“At the hotel.”
He started walking toward his truck.
I grabbed his arm.
“Don’t.”
He spun around.
“He has his hands on my wife.”
“I know.”
“Your husband is sleeping with my wife.”
His voice broke on the last word.
For one second, he looked less like a thirty-year-old man and more like the little boy who used to run to me after scraping his knee.
“And if you go into that hotel furious, what happens?”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
He stared at me.
“How are you this calm?”
“I’m not.”
I held up my hands.
They were shaking.
“I followed your father for twenty miles.”
Daniel said nothing.
“I watched Jenna pull into the parking lot.”
His jaw tightened.
“I took pictures because I knew if I didn’t, tomorrow they could look both of us in the face and say we misunderstood.”
