As we began reviewing the agreement, my mind drifted to the email I had received late last night. It was from an anonymous sender, containing a string of text messages exchanged between Ben and someone saved as “A.” The messages were explicit and undeniable. My best friend, Anna, was not just a name on his phone; she was a part of his day-to-day life in ways I had never imagined. But I couldn’t confront him directly, not yet. Instead, I let the silence stretch, watching his discomfort grow under my restrained scrutiny.
“Everything seems fine,” he said, sliding the paper back my way. “We just need to sign.” His hand trembled ever so slightly as he reached for the pen. I looked at it, then at him, my heart pounding. I needed more than an envelope and a suspicion; I needed proof that couldn’t be denied or dismissed.
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