That Friday, he kissed me goodbye, claiming a late meeting. I tracked him.
He skipped the office. Drove across town. Parked outside an apartment building.
I waited.
Finally, the door opened.
Tanner emerged. Not alone. A younger woman, laughing, her hand on his arm.
Mrs. Keller. Victor’s school counselor.
He kissed her—long, lingering. Not new.
I sat frozen, numb, heart pounding.
The truth: our son had witnessed his father’s affair. And his grandparents had paid $80,000 to ensure he stayed silent.
I had a plan.
On my birthday, Lenore insisted on hosting dinner at our house. Tanner played the perfect husband. I smiled, played along.
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