"Cheers," I said, my voice dead flat.
I took a long swallow. It burned all the way down, but I welcomed it. At least it was a sensation I could name.
Ben didn't toast. He just drank, wincing slightly as the liquor hit his throat. He set the mug down and leaned back against the island, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked out of place in my kitchen. Ryan had designed this room—clean lines, minimalist aesthetic, pristine surfaces. Ben was grit and texture and noise.
"Tell me what you know," I said.
He sighed, a heavy exhale that seemed to deflate him. "Olivia..."
"Don't," I warned. "Don't give me the 'sorry for your loss' speech. Don't ask me how I'm holding up. Just tell me."
He stared into his mug, swirling the amber liquid. "I don't know where to start."
"Start anywhere," I said, leaning against the counter opposite him. "Why you disappeared for eight months. Why Ryan texted you on the day he died. What he was ending."
I paused, watching his face. He flinched at the mention of the text.
"Or," I said, lowering my voice, "you can start by telling me about the woman who called his phone tonight."
Ben’s head snapped up. The color drained from his face, leaving him looking sallow and gray under the microwave light. "She called?"
"She did." I picked up my mug again, needing something to do with my hands. "She left a text first. Asking if he was okay.Then she called. She sounded... scared, Ben. She said Ryan told her they needed to talk, and then he disappeared."
I took a step closer to him. "So tell me. Who is she?"
Ben ran a hand through his hair, dislodging a fine mist of drywall dust that drifted down to the floor.
"You deserve to know," he said quietly. "But Liv... once I say it, you can't unknow it. It changes everything. Are you sure you want to do this tonight?"
"Do I look like I have anything else to do tonight?" I gestured to the empty, silent house. "My husband is dead. I have his phone. I have his secrets. I just don't have the context."
He stared at me for a long beat. Then he nodded, accepting the inevitable.
He picked up the whiskey and drained it. He set the mug down with a clink that echoed in the silence.
"Her name is Lucia," he said. "Lucia Vance. She’s a developer. Real estate."
Lucia.
The name landed in the room like a stone dropped in still water. It was a beautiful name. Sophisticated even. It wasn't the name of a mistake; it was the name of a person.
"Lucia," I repeated, tasting the syllables. They tasted like ash. "And what was she to Ryan?"
Ben didn't look away this time. He owed me that much. "He was seeing her, Olivia."
He didn't use the word affair or cheating. He used the softer, vaguer phrase, but it didn't soften the blow.
He wasseeingher.
I gripped the granite so hard my fingernails turned white.
"He was seeing her," I whispered.
"Yes."
"An affair."
"Yes."
