Behind him came a tall blonde woman in a cream coat and delicate heels—far too refined for the cracked steps outside. She scanned my living room with the detached curiosity of someone walking through a hotel lobby.
“Rachel,” Caleb said, as if I were the interruption. “We need to be adults about this.”
I stood slowly from the table.
“Adults?”
The woman gave a tight smile and adjusted her purse.
“Hi. I’m Vanessa.”
I didn’t respond. She already knew exactly who I was.
Caleb sighed, irritated that I wasn’t cooperating.
“Vanessa and I have been seeing each other for eight months. I don’t want to lie anymore. I want honesty in this house.”
Honesty. He really said that—standing in my home with his mistress.
I should have yelled. Thrown him out. But instead, something colder took over. Because Caleb had made one critical mistake:
he thought he was the only one bringing a surprise.
