Natalie's statement contained no dramatic revelation. Lena had apparently been upset during a private conversation and said she'd known about Kate's involvement with the coworker for three or four months before the matter became public within their group. She had struggled with whether she should tell me and ultimately had done nothing. Natalie wrote that she could not personally confirm the affair's dates, only that Lena had represented her knowledge in those terms. I read the account once, then again, trying to imagine how it would feel to sit across from someone who'd greeted me warmly during those months while knowing something I didn't.
Lena had come to our house for dinner countless times. She'd helped Kate choose curtains for the living room and once borrowed my truck to move a bookshelf. On my birthday, she'd sent a message saying how lucky Kate was to have someone so dependable. I had treated her as a friend, someone who cared about both of us. The statement left me feeling less angry than tired, because it suggested that my private reality had been discussed in rooms I was never invited into.
I called Daniel after reading it. He asked whether I planned to confront Lena, and I said no. He said that was probably best because she couldn't change what she'd done by explaining it now. Then he asked whether I wanted to come over and watch a game, and I realized he'd learned how to offer company without making it sound like a rescue mission. I drove to his place with a six-pack of beer and spent the evening arguing about a referee's decisions instead of someone's loyalty.
One night that week, Kate asked whether we could still attend a family birthday dinner together. Her aunt was turning seventy, and there would be relatives who didn't know we were separating. She said arriving alone would raise questions and make the evening uncomfortable for everyone. I told her I didn't feel comfortable attending as a couple and suggested she go without me. She stared at me for a moment and asked whether I was determined to embarrass her in front of her family.
"I'm not asking them to take sides," I said. "I'm just not going to pretend we're fine." She answered that a little cooperation would not kill me. I told her I hoped she had a good evening. She went upstairs and called someone, and I heard her describe me as being impossible lately.
I wasn't sure whether she knew I could hear. I had stopped trying to determine which of her words were accidental and which were meant to be overheard.
At work, Graham offered to change my schedule on the day of mediation. He'd read Elaine's closure notice and apparently considered the matter finished. I appreciated that he hadn't discussed it with others. When I thanked him, he shrugged and said I had vacation time available and should use it if needed. Then he asked a question about a delivery route, giving me a way back into the ordinary professional world without a speech about resilience.