I clenched my teeth. Then the man answered, “Don’t worry. Ethan is at work.
I got the key myself. And Natalie won’t be back until tonight.” I froze.
I knew that voice. I had heard it for thirty-two years. I shoved open the bedroom door.
And there was my husband, Charles. He was wearing the silk robe he claimed he had lost on a business trip months earlier.
Beside him sat a woman young enough to be our daughter. Charles went completely pale.
“Patricia… what are you doing here?” The young woman stared at him. Then at me.
“Is she… your wife?” I felt like the floor had disappeared beneath me.
But the affair was only the beginning. When I demanded to know why Charles was using our son’s apartment, his expression changed.
Then he finally admitted the truth. “Ethan doesn’t know I come here.” I stared.
“Then how do you have a key?” Charles looked away. “I made one.” My stomach dropped.
Then he added, “There’s something else.” “What?” “I used Ethan’s information for my business.”
I went cold. “What information?” “His name.” “His credit.” My voice barely worked.
“Charles, what did you do?” He rubbed both hands over his face. Then whispered, “I opened debt in his name.”
