Jenna’s name.
I flipped through it, my brain trying to catch up.
There were messages between him and Jenna from that day.
“Can’t stay long,” he’d written. “Got to get back before she suspects.”
“Drive safe,” she’d replied. “Love you.”
My stomach rolled.
“No,” I whispered.
My mom’s voice was sharp.
“He wasn’t driving to his grandparents that night,” she said. “He was driving home from his mistress.”
I looked at my husband.
“Tell me she’s lying,” I said.
He didn’t. He just started crying.
“Before the accident,” he said, voice cracking, “it was… it was stupid. I was stupid. Jenna and I… it was a few months, that’s all.”
“A few months,” I repeated.
“I thought I loved you both,” he said miserably. “I know how that sounds. I was young and selfish.”
“So the night of the accident, you were driving home from her.”
He nodded, eyes squeezed shut.
“I was leaving her place when I hit the ice. Spun out. Woke up in the hospital.”
“And the grandparents’ story?” I asked.
.”I panicked. I knew you. I knew if you thought I’d done nothing wrong, you’d stay. You’d fight for me. And if you knew the truth…”
“I might have left,” I finished.
He nodded.
“So you lied,” I said. “You let me think you were an innocent victim. You let me burn my life down for you based on a lie.”
“I was scared. Then time passed, and it felt too late. Every year, it gets harder to tell you. I hated myself, but I couldn’t risk losing you.”
I turned to my mother.
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