Chapter 5: What Diane Didn't Expect
I gave it three days.
Three days of watching Nathan move through the house — making coffee, checking his phone, kissing my cheek before work — while I carried the photograph in my bag and the letters in my memory.
On the fourth day, Diane called to invite us to Sunday lunch.
Nathan said yes before I could say anything.
I spent Saturday night deciding exactly how I was going to handle it.
Sunday, I dressed carefully.
I was calm when we arrived.
I helped set the table.
I complimented the soup.
I waited.
Diane was in a good mood.
She talked about a neighbor's renovation, about a television program she'd been watching, about how Nathan looked tired and needed to take better care of himself.
She said this last part looking at me, as if his tiredness were my responsibility.
I smiled and said nothing.
After the main course, Nathan went to use the bathroom.
Diane and I were alone.
She refilled her wine glass and leaned back in her chair.
"You've been quiet today," she said.
"I've been thinking."
"About what?"
I reached into my bag and placed the photograph on the table between us.
Diane's hand stopped halfway to her glass.
She looked at the photograph.
Then she looked at me.
"Where did you get that?"
"The box on the top shelf of your closet."
The color in her face didn't drain — it shifted.
Something behind her eyes went very still.
"You went through my things."
"I did."
"That is completely unacceptable—"
"I also read the letters," I said.
"All seven of them.
From Lena Marsh.
Addressed to Nathan.
Returned by you."
Diane set her wine glass down.
"Those letters are private family matters."
"They're letters from a woman who loved your son, asking him why he stopped responding.
And you returned them in his name without telling him they'd arrived."
"I was protecting my son."
"From what?"
"From a woman who wasn't right for him."
"That wasn't your decision to make."
She straightened in her chair.
The softness she'd had a moment ago was completely gone.
"I am his mother.
Everything about his life is my concern."
"He has a wife."
"And before you, he had her." Her voice went flat and precise.
"And she would have ruined him.
She was unstable.
Demanding.
She would have taken everything he had and left him with nothing."
"Or," I said, "she loved him and you couldn't stand the competition."
Diane's eyes narrowed.
"Be very careful, Rebecca."
"I've been careful for three years," I said.
"I've been careful every time you laughed at me across this table.
Every time you reminded me that I don't understand men.
Every time you spent our money and smiled about it." I kept my voice level.
"I'm done being careful."
We heard the bathroom door open down the hall.
Diane leaned forward.
"You say one word to Nathan about those letters," she said quietly, "and I will make your life very difficult.
I have been the center of his world since before you existed.
Don't test me."
Nathan appeared in the doorway.
He looked at his mother.
Then at me.
Then at the table.
"What's going on?"
Neither of us spoke.
He walked slowly to the table and looked down at the photograph.
May you like
His face changed.
"Where did this come from?"
