Then she gave a casual instruction.
“Tell Richard I’m here.”
She stepped into the house without waiting for permission.
Her heels clicked against the hardwood floor while she looked around the living room with the critical curiosity of someone evaluating a property she might soon claim as her own.
“This place really needs updating,” she said thoughtfully. “I’ll talk to Richard about that.”
Richard.
My husband.
Or at least the man who had still been my husband less than an hour earlier.
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