"That is not the same as you and I being repaired."
"I know I screwed up."
"How long?"
He looked away.
"What?"
"How long were you sleeping with her?"
His jaw moved.
"A few months."
"How many?"
"Valerie."
"How many?"
"Six. Maybe seven."
I nodded.
"How long were you lying to her about our marriage being over?"
He stared at me.
That told me the answer was longer.
"I don't know."
"You do know."
"Almost a year."
There it was.
I rested one hand on the suitcase handle.
"So the affair started physically six or seven months ago, but you had been preparing the ground for it before that."
"It wasn't like some plan."
"You told another woman our divorce was almost finished when I did not know we were getting one. That required planning."
He dragged both hands over his face.
"I felt trapped."
"By what?"
"By this. By us becoming roommates. By you always being gone. By me coming home to an empty house."
I almost admired the efficiency with which he moved toward my job.
"I have worked the same career for nine years."
"It wasn't the same before."
"No. Before, when your company needed money, my schedule was useful. When my income helped us qualify for this house, my job was useful. When my flight benefits took us on vacations you liked showing people pictures of, my job was useful. It became a problem only after you started wanting someone else."
"That's not fair."
"It is exactly fair."
His voice rose.
"You think you're perfect?"
"No."
The answer stopped him.
I continued before he could recover.
"I work too much sometimes. I shut down when I'm hurt. I avoid arguments longer than I should. I let you handle finances because I was tired of fighting about money. I stopped asking you to come to my work events after you made it clear you were bored. I can name my failures without turning them into permission for yours."
Ryan stood still.