My first name was common enough to be a coincidence.
The reference to the staircase was not.
The boardinghouse on Mercer Street had a narrow rear stairway that my father and I repaired the summer I turned sixteen.
I had never spoken publicly about that repair.
“Who wrote this?” I asked.
“Mara says her mother did,” Caroline replied.
“Her mother died a month after the school closed.”
I looked again at the handwriting and the date.
Then I asked Caroline to tell me everything she knew before either of us decided what it meant.
CHAPTER 3: No Easy Confession
Jessica came into the kitchen while I was filling a glass of water.
She sat at the table where we used to divide bills and plan our summer trips.
I remained by the sink because sitting across from her felt like accepting a conversation I was not yet ready to have.
“How long have you known?” she asked.
“I suspected the affair for about three weeks,” I answered.
“I knew for certain when I opened that door.”
Jessica stared at the wood grain of the table.
“Richard told me he was separating,” she said.
“You knew he was married,” I replied.
“Yes.”
“And you knew I was married to you.”
Her face crumpled, but I could not make myself comfort her.
She admitted that the relationship had begun at an out-of-town conference four months earlier.
They had continued meeting after work and sometimes during lunch.
The explanation came slowly, without excuses that could survive being spoken aloud.
I asked whether she had brought him to our house before.
“Twice,” she said.
I put the water glass down because my hand had started shaking.
She said she had never intended for me to find them that afternoon.
I told her that the intention did not change the fact.
When she asked what happened next, I said she could stay in the guest room until we figured out a temporary arrangement.
I would sleep at my brother’s place for two nights.
We would speak to attorneys before making decisions about the house or our finances.
Jessica accepted the arrangement without arguing.
Then she asked again about Richard’s daughter.
“Caroline believes he lied about her death,” I said.
Jessica touched the edge of her phone.
“He said his first wife and daughter died in a house fire.”
I had heard that version, too.
According to Richard, the tragedy had happened before he moved east and rebuilt his life.
