The sentence fit none of the scenarios I had imagined. Hates her? If she had been an ex, maybe. If she had broken his heart, perhaps. But then why tattoo her face onto his shoulder?
“How do you know him?” I asked.
A sad smile crossed her face. “I knew him a long time ago.”
That was not an answer. Before I could ask more, she stood.
“I should go.”
“Wait.”
“Who are you?”
For a moment I thought she might finally explain. Instead, she shook her head.
“That’s a conversation you need to have with your husband.”
Then she turned and walked away.
The entire drive home, my thoughts spiraled. Ex-girlfriend. Childhood friend. The daughter of family friends.
Because none of those explanations fit all the pieces. Not the tattoo. Not the lies. And certainly not the fear I had seen in her eyes.
By the time I reached our driveway, I was worked up. Ryan was sitting on the porch. The moment he saw me, he smiled.
I did not smile back.
His expression changed immediately. “What happened?”
I walked directly toward him.
“I met her.”
For a second, Ryan simply stared at me. Then all the color drained from his face. It was not guilt. It was not panic over being discovered.
It was fear.
The exact same fear I had seen in the bakery.
