The Police Showed Up Before My Cheating Husband Could

moving. Sitters. Short-term care. Different addresses. Nothing that hit the radar soon enough.”

“Different addresses,” I repeated.

She nodded. “Including Ms. Cole’s apartment.”

Marissa’s apartment.

Of course.

The same apartment where I’d sat cross-legged on the floor two winters ago, helping her sort through throw pillows after her breakup, listening to continue reading …