Six Years Of Afternoon Tea Bought Me The Truth About My Husband Chapter 01

Six Years Of Afternoon Tea Bought Me The Truth About My Husband Chapter 01

I never paid my husband’s driver a high salary.

But every month, for six years without fail, I treated his wife to afternoon tea.

My husband said I had too much time on my hands and questioned what I could possibly have to talk about with a driver’s wife.

I just smiled.

The driver’s wife was much more talkative than her husband.

Everything her husband mentioned at home spilled right out to me.

Last week, she suddenly asked to meet, saying, “Mrs. Moreau, I probably shouldn’t be telling you this. But yesterday my husband drove Mr. Moreau and a woman to a hospital.”

“It was for her first prenatal checkup. She’s three months pregnant. And Mr. Moreau stayed with her the whole time during the checkup.”

***

Callie Bennett, the driver’s wife, sat across from me, her fingers nervously tearing at a tissue.

She was usually a big talker. Whose son was in grad school, whose daughter-in-law was recovering from childbirth, whose HOA fees went up—she could drone on for half an hour about anything.

Today, she only managed those words, her eyes filled with unease.

“Which hospital?” I asked.

She gave me the name.

I nodded, asking, “What’s the woman’s name?”

She shook her head, explaining, “My husband didn’t dare look too closely. He only heard Mr. Moreau call her Norah.”

Norah.

Hearing that word made my stomach turn.

I knew her.

Norah Blake was an administrative assistant at my husband Andres Moreau’s company.

She was twenty-six years old and had only been here for two years. She had an innocent, pleasing look about her and a sweet way with words. Every time she saw me, she always greeted me warmly.

At the company’s annual party last month, she wore a white dress while handing Andres a drink.

I had even smiled and praised her for being so considerate.

I was completely blind, a total fool.

Callie looked at me, pleading, “Mrs. Moreau, please don’t tell my husband I said anything. He’s terrified of losing his job.”

“I won’t.”

I settled the bill and had the waiter pack a cake for her to take home.

She didn’t take it.

“Mrs. Moreau, are you really not angry?”

I offered a small smile, replying, “What’s the point of getting angry? I need to get the facts straight first.”

When I got home, Andres wasn’t back yet.

I sat in the living room, mentally reviewing every piece of information Callie had given me over the years.

Andres made a regular trip to the south side of the city every Wednesday.

He claimed he was meeting clients.

Callie said her husband parked the car under an apartment building on the south side every time, and Andres went up for two hours.

Andres never went to the office on the afternoon of the 15th of every month.

He claimed he was getting a physical.

Callie said he would go to the bank and then pick someone up near a baby boutique.

Andres started switching colognes last year.

He claimed a client gave it to him.

Callie said there was often a sickly sweet scent in the back seat of the car.

I hadn’t thought deeply about it before.

When a marriage lasted a long time, a person automatically made excuses for their partner.

But making too many excuses just ended up digging a grave for oneself.

At 10 PM, Andres finally returned.

He tossed his coat to the housekeeper Mrs. Bell and looked down to change his shoes.

“Have you eaten?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Where did you go today?”

He looked up at me, answering, “The office.”

“All day?”

“Yeah.”

I looked at his collar. There was a long strand of hair.

It wasn’t mine.

I reached out and plucked it off for him.

His expression shifted slightly, demanding, “What are you doing?”

“A hair.”

I placed the strand of hair on the coffee table.

He stared at the hair, and half a second later, he laughed. “Stevie, are you checking up on me now?”