The wind was cool.
The sea stretched endlessly toward the horizon.
I took out my phone.
For a moment, I stared at Marcus’s number.
Then I called.
He answered on the third ring.
“Eleanor?”
“I know.”
He went silent.
“Know what?”
“I know about Chicago. The woman. The Thursday meetings. The hotel.”
His breathing changed.
“Eleanor, I don’t know what you’ve heard—”
“Stop.”
He was quiet.
“Please don’t tell me we’ve grown apart again.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Marcus tried to explain.
His words came slowly.
There were admissions.
Excuses.
And moments of silence when neither of us knew what to say.
Finally, I interrupted.
“You didn’t protect me by hiding the truth, Marcus.”
No dijo nada.
“You took away my ability to make an informed choice about my own marriage.”
“Eleanor, I’m sorry.”
I looked out at the ocean.
