“You kissed him.”
“Yes.”
“You slept with him.”
She nodded.
“You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“You married Bram.”
“Yes.”
“You came into my house.”
“Yes.”
“You held my children.”
Her face crumpled.
“I know.”
“You looked at me every Christmas.”
“Yes.”
“And every birthday.”
“Yes.”
“And every time I told you how much I trusted you.”
She couldn’t answer.
I stepped closer.
“You didn’t just betray me.”
She looked at me.
“You made me feel stupid for trusting you.”
“I never thought you were stupid.”
“You told him I trusted him completely.”
She went pale.
“You saw that?”
“Yes.”
She covered her mouth.
I whispered:
“That sentence hurt more than the photographs.”
She cried harder.
“I didn’t mean—”
“You did.”
“No.”
“You did.”
She shook her head.
“I loved you too.”
I stared at her.
“Then you would have stopped.”
She had no answer.
After a long silence, she said, “He promised me he’d leave you.”
I sat opposite him.
Neither of us knew what to say.
Finally, he said:
“I called you in February.”
“I know.”
“I asked you if she’d been strange.”
“I remember.”
“I asked if you’d noticed anything.”
“I remember.”
He nodded.
“You told me I was being unfair.”
I closed my eyes.
“I know.”
“I believed you.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
He looked at me.
“It felt like it was.”
“Why?”
“Because you were her sister.”
He rubbed his hands together.
“I thought if I accused her and I was wrong, I’d destroy my marriage.”
I looked at him.
“And if you were right?”
He gave a tired smile.
“I already had.”
We sat in silence.
Then he said:
“I should have shown you the photographs earlier.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I wanted proof.”
“You had proof.”
“I wanted enough proof that nobody could call me jealous.”
I looked toward the doorway.
“I’m sorry.”
He shook his head.
“You didn’t do this.”
“I defended her.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have.”
He looked directly at me.
“No.”
I swallowed.
“You should have listened to yourself.”
Then he pushed an envelope across the table.
“There’s something else.”
