“So you used Emma to avoid him.”
Helena closed her eyes. “Yes.”
“And Sophie begged you not to.”
“Yes.”
Helena had been hurt. She had also hurt my daughter. Both could be true.
“Yes.”
“I was wrong,” she said. “I panicked, and I made Sophie pay for an adult problem.”
“Emma too.”
“Yes.”
I wasn’t ready to forgive her.
But I believed her.
Before I left, I said, “Send me the messages.”
“I was wrong.”
Helena looked up.
“Why?”
“Because I’m done letting everyone else tell me what my marriage looks like.”
At home, I checked our shared accounts. The payments were there, months apart and labeled vaguely: helping a friend, temporary loan.
I remembered kissing his cheek after one of them and saying, “You’re a good man.”
I checked our shared accounts.
Then Emma walked into the kitchen.
“Dad gave Helena money?”
I shut the laptop.
“Who told you?”
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