I didn’t tend to be a nervous person.

The last time I’d felt this way was when I stood in front of the judge and told him I wanted legal custody of my fourteen-year-old sister. I wasn’t nervous that I was making the wrong decision—I was nervous that he’d say I wasn’t qualified or that my sister would be better off in foster care or with my aunt in Ohio.

But as I sat in my car, parked on Superior Street in front of the storefront law office of Marie Louise Landsford, Esquire, my palms were sweaty and my stomach was tied in a knot. It felt as though I could bend over and toss my breakfast, only I hadn’t had anything to eat since the one bite of burger last night. My eyes also itched, though that could be from lack of sleep and not nerves. I could feel my heartbeat all over—ricocheting against my chest, swooshing through my ears, even in my throat.

My phone buzzed in my pocket—a text from Valentina. I’d exchanged a few messages with her last night, but didn’t mention anything about my father or what was going on. I couldn’t even admit it to myself, much less say the words out loud to someone else. I also hadn’t mentioned I’d blown off the appointment I was supposed to have with the engineer this morning. The only thing she knew was that I’d pushed back my flight to meet with an attorney about zoning. Which was sort of true, I guess. At least that was what I planned to say when I walked into her office without an appointment. I had no plans beyond that. I couldn’t even think about what I might say, or how I might ask her.

Valentina: Good luck with the attorney today, and have a safe flight home later. Let me know what train you’re on in the morning, and I’ll pick you up. I have a little surprise for you.

I stared at my cell like the words were gibberish. There was no way I could possibly text back. Instead, I shoved the phone into my pocket. I just needed to get this shit over with.

I got out of the car, took a deep breath, and headed for the door.

A woman about my age was sitting behind a reception desk. She smiled. “Hi. Can I help you?”

“Yeah. Ummm. I don’t have an appointment, but I was hoping maybe I could speak to Marie.”

“Can I ask what this is in reference to?”

“I’m considering buying a building in the area, and she did some work for my father on it previously.”

“Oh. Okay.” She motioned toward a closed door to her left. “She’s with a client right now, but she should be finished any minute. As soon as she gets done, I’ll ask her if she can speak with you.”

“Thanks,”

“Can I have your name, please?”

“Ford. Ford Donovan.”

If my last name meant anything to the receptionist, she didn’t show it. She told me to take a seat, and I sat on a leather couch and pretended to thumb through a copy of Architectural Digest. A few minutes later, the door to Marie’s office opened. My heart, which had already been beating fast, took off like a runaway train. An older man in a suit walked out first, talking to someone behind him.

“I think once we send over these last revisions, they’ll finally sign the contract,” a woman’s voice said.

I still couldn’t see her.

“Good. Good. I’m anxious to get this all behind me.”

The man took a few steps, and the woman who’d been speaking appeared in the doorway.

“I’ll be in touch soon.”

Seeing her for the first time, I froze. What the hell? I knew her. But from where? I flipped through a mental rolodex of where I might’ve seen her before. I was absolutely positive we’d met. But I’d never come to Chicago.

The client made his way to the front door, and the attorney took a few steps toward the receptionist, who turned to speak to her.

“I didn’t want to interrupt since you were almost finished with Mr. Wetson, but you have a walk-in.”

Marie looked over to the seating area for the first time. I stood. The minute her eyes landed on me, her entire face changed. Her jaw dropped open, her eyes drooped with sadness, and all of her color drained away.

Completely oblivious, the receptionist kept talking. “You’ve done some work for his family before. He doesn’t have an appointment, but you have a half hour before your next one.”

That pale, sorrow-filled face—it clicked. The funeral! She’d come to my parents’ funeral. That weekend was mostly a blur—there had been so many friends who came and went. For two days, I’d spent the majority of my time standing and shaking people’s hands. I couldn’t have repeated what anyone had actually said if my life depended on it.

But I remembered seeing her. She’d been sitting on a chair in the back corner all by herself, crying. She’d looked really distraught, so I’d gone over to see if she was okay. It was the first time I’d met her, but that didn’t strike me as unusual. People came out of the woodwork to give their condolences at the funeral.

I walked over to where Marie stood, still staring at me. The receptionist turned as I approached. “Oh. Here he is. Marie, this is….”

Marie smiled sadly and shook her head. Her voice was solemn and her tone resigned. “I know who he is. Hello, Ford.”

I nodded, unable to say anything.

Marie tilted her head toward her door. “Why don’t we talk in my office?”

I nodded and followed her inside. She closed the door after telling the receptionist to cancel her next meeting and hold her calls.

Walking around to the other side of her desk, she held her hand out. “Please, have a seat.”

I kept staring at her even as I sat.

She settled into her chair and shuffled some papers that didn’t need shuffling on her desk. Speaking softly, she said, “How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

She nodded. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

I stared at her. I honestly didn’t need to ask the question, the guilt and sadness on her face told me most of the answers. So I skipped over the bullshit and went to the stuff I didn’t already know.

“How long were you two having an affair?”

She looked down. “About three years.”

Jesus Christ. Three fucking years? I thought back to the last summers out in Montauk before they died. My parents had been dancing and as in love as ever. I nodded. “Why?”

She sighed. “It just happened. Neither of us planned it. I was happily married, too. At least I thought I was at the time.”

“Was?”

She nodded. “I told my husband about the affair after I came home from the funeral. I couldn’t hide how upset I was, and I knew our marriage was over. I’d been unfair to him for a long time. We’ve been divorced for a few years now.”

I didn’t understand. It seemed impossible to reconcile my smiling, seemingly happy parents with my dad having an affair with the woman in front of me. I thought for a long time, leaving the silence in the room to grow thick.

When I finally spoke, I looked straight into her eyes. “He loved my mother. They were happy.”

I could see my words caused her pain. As fucked up as it was, that made me feel bad.

She nodded. “Of course he did. There’s no excuse for what I did, what your father and I did, Ford. The only thing I can say is that we’d both been married a long time. I’d married my high school sweetheart, just like your father.” She shook her head and looked out the window. “Curiosity? I don’t know. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it, though, both while it was happening and over the last three years. Neither of us had much experience. We didn’t date or really live adult lives outside of our spouses. So I guess maybe we reached a certain point in our lives—midlife—and wondered who we were without our spouses. You’re young, so I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Honestly, I’m not sure I even understand, but I think I needed validation that what I had wasn’t going to be my entire life here on this Earth.”

She returned her gaze to me and shook her head. There were tears pooled in her eyes. “By the time I realized what I had was enough, and I should’ve been thanking my lucky stars instead of thinking I was missing out on something, it was too late.”

I sat in silence, trying to make sense of everything, but I couldn’t seem to grasp anything in my hands. Nothing could sink in. I knew in my heart I’d never be back here, I’d never see this woman again, so I wanted to make sure to ask her what I needed to ask and say what I needed to say. Hoping things would come to me, I looked around the room, lost in thought. My eyes landed on a framed photo of a little girl. She couldn’t be older than five or six.

No.

Just fucking no.

My voice was so monotone. “Is that your daughter?”

Marie smiled. “Yes. Rebecca.” Her smile wilted. “The divorce was hard on her. I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through…and now coming here and dealing with this.”