Seven women. Two pushed-together tables. Some of them looked angry. One wouldn’t meet my eyes. One was turning a coffee cup in slow circles on the table without drinking from it.
The woman who had stood gestured toward an empty chair.
“Danielle?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Tessa.”
My legs felt strange. I sat.
“What is this?”
Tessa looked at the others. “We’re sorry.”
“For what?”
“For how you found out.”
I looked from face to face. “Found out what, exactly?”
Tessa set her phone on the table.
“Marcus told you about Olivia?”
I didn’t answer.
“He always admits to the person you’ve already discovered,” she said. “That’s how he works. You find one, he confirms one. You think you have the whole story.”
My stomach dropped.
Tessa opened a folder on her phone. Marcus’s name at the top. His photo — the one in the grey shirt I’d bought him for his birthday, the one he wore when we went to his sister’s wedding last spring.
