Beneath it sat the message that cracked something inside me.
“Sweetheart, I can’t wait for our next meeting.❤️We’re going to the hotel by the lake this weekend, right?💋”
I should have put the phone back.
Instead, I held it like proof, like maybe staring at it long enough might somehow repair everything.
Footsteps came down the hallway. I stayed standing in the kitchen.
Cole walked in with wet hair, sweatpants, and a towel slung over his shoulder. He looked calm, completely at ease, as if nothing in the world was wrong.
He noticed the phone in my hand and frowned for a second but simply reached past me for a glass in the cupboard.
“Cole,” I said, watching him.
He didn’t answer. He filled the glass, took a drink, then glanced at me as if I were blocking his path.
“Cole, what is this?” My voice cracked, and I hated that it did.
