That was when I knew.
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“Laura,” he said quietly. “Tomorrow is our daughter’s wedding. Please. Please don’t do this tonight.”
“So you do know her.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
He looked toward the hallway. Toward Emma’s old bedroom, where she was spending her last night as a single woman in the house she grew up in.
“I can’t,” he said.
“You can’t.”
“Not tonight. Not yet. I promise you, Laura. It’s not what you think. I’ll explain everything. I just can’t right now.”
“David. Who is she?”
“Please.”
He looked like a man standing on the edge of something very high.
And I don’t know why, but I didn’t push. Maybe because Emma was down the hall. Maybe because I didn’t want to hear the answer the night before my daughter’s wedding.
