I could not.
The first exchange she forwarded began eleven months earlier.
Ryan had contacted her after the charity gala where they met. At first the messages were harmless enough: compliments on the event, a question about a photographer, a joke about the terrible catering. Then the tone shifted.
He told her he was lonely.
He told her I was rarely home.
He described our marriage as "technically intact but emotionally finished."
He claimed I had been the one to suggest separation.
That was a complete invention.
Three months before the affair became physical, he wrote: Valerie and I are just waiting until after the holidays to make it official. We both agreed not to make it messy.
I read that line four times.
That holiday season, I had bought his mother a cashmere scarf, hosted eighteen people at our house, and surprised Ryan with tickets to a football game because he had complained we never did anything together.
He had thanked me by telling another woman we had mutually agreed to divorce.
Another message came from February.
Ashley had written: I don't want to be the other woman.
Ryan answered: You're not. My marriage is over in every way that matters. The paperwork is just paperwork.
In March, she asked why he still wore his wedding ring.
He replied: Clients notice. Valerie doesn't care anymore.
I cared.
I had simply trusted him enough not to inspect his hand every time he left the house.
The messages also showed things I did not expect.
Ashley challenged him repeatedly.
She asked when he planned to move out.
She refused to meet him twice because she said the situation felt wrong.
He kept returning with new deadlines.
After tax season.
After a major contract closed.
After his mother's birthday.
After one more conversation with me that had never actually occurred.
None of that erased Ashley's responsibility.
But it changed its shape.
She had not seduced an unwilling husband out of a happy home.
Ryan had built a fictional dying marriage and invited her into it.
At the end of the file, Ashley included one message of her own.
I am not asking you to forgive me. I should have required proof that he was separated before I got involved. I wanted to believe him because believing him let me have what I wanted. That part is mine. But I am giving you everything because the lies about you were extensive, and you deserve to know what version of your life he was selling.
I sat at Monica's dining table until nearly midnight.
Then I wrote back.
Thank you for sending it. I am not ready for any conversation beyond this. Please do not contact me unless you remember something financially or legally relevant.
She replied with a single sentence.
Understood. I am sorry.
I sent the file to Rebecca the next morning.
Rebecca called me two hours later.