I closed my eyes. I saw Ryan’s face—the way he looked on our honeymoon, the way he looked at me across the dinner table, the way he looked when he promised me forever.
And then I pictured him with a woman named Lucia. A faceless, beautiful developer. In my mind’s eye, he was touching her. Telling her things he’d once whispered into my ear.
"How long?" I asked. My voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. "How long did you know?"
Ben shifted his weight, looking down at his boots. "Since May. About eight months."
Eight months.
Almost a year.
Ryan had been living a double life for almost a year. He had come home to me, eaten dinner with me, slept in our bed, and all the while, he had been carrying this.
"How did you find out?" I asked. "Did he tell you?"
"No," Ben said. "He wouldn't have told me. He knew how I'd react." He reached for the bottle and poured himself another drink, his hand steady. "I was dropping off prints at the Sliding Hill site. Remember? The big timber-frame job he was consulting on. I got there early, thinking I’d beat the traffic."
He took a sip, grimacing.
"I saw his truck in the drive. I didn't think anything of it. I walked around back to the deck to check the footings." He stopped, his throat working. "They were there, on the deck. They didn't see me."
He didn't have to describe it. The image blossomed in my mind with horrifying clarity. Ryan with someone else.
"I left," Ben continued. "Didn’t know what to do. Just got back in my truck and drove away. I called him that night, told him what I saw."
"And that's why you stopped coming around," I said.
"I told him to end it," Ben said, his voice hardening. "I told him he was an idiot. I told him he had the best thing in the world at home and he was throwing it away for... for a thrill." He shook his head. "We got into it. He got defensive. Said it wasn't that simple. Said I didn't understand."
"What didn't you understand?"
"I don't know," Ben admitted, frustration leaking into his voice. "I asked himwhy, Liv. I asked him what the hell was missing. If you guys were fighting, if something happened."
He shook his head, looking down at the whiskey.
"He couldn't give me a straight answer. He just kept talking in circles. About feeling... pressure. About wanting to do more. None of it made sense. I told him he was crazy. I told him he had a perfect life."
"And what did he say?"
Ben looked up at me, his expression helpless. "He said,'I know.'"
I grit my teeth so hard pain shot up my jaw.
That was worse than unhappiness. Unhappiness was a reason. Unhappiness was a diagnosis. This? This was just greed. He knew he had a perfect life, and he decided he wanted more anyway.
"And then?" I insisted.
"I… I couldn’t be a part of it. That’s why I haven’t been around." Ben rubbed the back of his neck. "I couldn't look you in the eye, Olivia. Not knowing what I knew."
"And Friday?" I asked. "The text?"
"He reached out," Ben said. "Begged me to meet him for lunch. We met at the diner by the old mill. He looked terrible, Liv. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week. He was shaking."
"What did he say?"
"He said he couldn't do it anymore. The guilt, the lying… He said he was drowning." Ben looked at me. "I told him he had tochoose. Today. Right now. I told him to go to her and end it, or go home and pack a bag."
This ends tonight.
