Blake’s hands began to shake.

He dropped the papers onto the desk.

“She told me you ran off with an old colleague,” he said. “She showed me photos.”

“The photos she took when I was attending an environmental conference in Denver?” I asked. “The ones where I was just walking down the street?”

Blake didn’t answer.

He stared at the documents as if they were venomous.

“She lied to me,” he said. “For five years.”

“She didn’t just lie,” I said. “She ruined our lives. She kept three boys from their father.”

Blake sank into his leather chair.

He covered his face with his hands.

The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the sound of the rain against the glass.

I watched his shoulders rise and fall.

Seeing him broken like this didn’t give me the satisfaction I thought it would.

It only made the waste of those five years feel more tragic.

“How did you get these?” Blake asked, his voice muffled behind his hands.

He lowered his hands, his eyes red-rimmed.