I stayed on the porch.
Tony stood below me, waiting for me to move.
Dakota still had one hand on the door.
Nobody seemed willing to be the first person to speak.
Then I looked at her.
"If you can't tell me while he's here, tell me when he leaves."
She nodded, but she didn't look relieved.
Tony stepped closer.
"Jennifer, please don't turn this into something it isn't."
I faced him.
"Then tell me what it is."
He looked at Dakota.
That was enough to make my hands tremble.
For eight years, I had been the person he came home to.
I knew how he took his coffee, how he liked his shirts folded, and how he went quiet when something at work upset him.
Yet now he was looking at another woman as if she held the words that might save him.
I couldn't stop thinking about that.
"Go to work, Tony."
He shook his head.
"I'm not leaving you like this."
"You already have."
The words came out before I had time to soften them.
He stared at me.
I felt a little sorry for him, but the feeling didn't change my mind.
"I'll be home," he said.
I didn't answer.
He looked at Dakota once more, then walked toward our house.
I heard his car door open.
The engine started.
A few seconds later, he drove away.
I watched the car disappear down the street.
Then I turned back to Dakota.
"Now can you tell me?"
She stepped aside.
"Come in."
I hesitated before crossing her threshold.
Her house still looked as though she'd only recently moved into it.
There were boxes stacked against one wall, and a roll of packing tape sat on a low table near the stairs.
A framed picture leaned against a box instead of hanging on the wall.
She led me into the living room.
I sat on the edge of the sofa.
Dakota remained standing.
"Do you want something to drink?"
"No."
She nodded.
For a few seconds, she rubbed her palms against her trousers.
I watched her struggle to begin.
"Jennifer, I need you to understand something first."
I waited.
"I didn't start bringing Tony coffee because I wanted to get close to him."
"Then why did you?"
She looked down.
"Because I was trying to find a way to speak to him."
I stared at her.
"You could have knocked on our door."
"I know."
"You could have called him."
"I know that, too."
Her answers were quiet.
She seemed to hate every one of them.
"Then why the coffee?"
Dakota sat in the chair opposite me.
"I thought if I approached him casually, he'd have a chance to talk to me without feeling cornered."
I glanced at the folded note still in my hand.
"Apparently, that didn't work."
"No."
She looked toward the front window.
"When you asked me to stop, I stopped. I wasn't trying to upset you."
I believed that part.
I didn't know why, but I did.
It didn't make the situation any easier.
"What does Tony have to tell me?"
Dakota pressed her lips together.
"I can't answer that for him."
"You wrote the note."
"Yes."
"You gave him until Friday."
"Yes."
"Then you must know what he's hiding."
She took a breath.
"I know he needs to tell you something. I know he's had opportunities to do it, and he hasn't."
My anger rose again.
"What is it?"
Dakota looked at me.
For a moment, she seemed ready to answer.
Then she stopped herself.
"I'm sorry."
I let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
"That's all you've got?"
"No. It's not."
"Then say it."
She looked toward the stairs.
I followed her gaze, but there was nothing there except a cardboard box with a strip of tape hanging loose.
When she looked back, her eyes were wet.
"I don't want to be the person who tells you something that should come from your husband."
I stood.
"You're already that person, Dakota."
She flinched.
I immediately regretted the sharpness of my voice.
But I couldn't take the words back.
"I came here because I wanted an answer," I said. "I don't want to spend the next few days wondering what my own husband has done."
She rose from the chair.
"I understand."
"Do you?"
I looked at her carefully.
"Because if you were in my position, I don't think you'd be satisfied with this conversation."
She didn't disagree.
I walked toward the door.
At the threshold, I turned around.
"Is this about another woman?"
Dakota's face changed.
Not much.
Just enough.
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then she shook her head.
"Not the way you're imagining."
I wanted to ask what that meant.
I wanted to demand the rest of the answer.
But I could see that she had reached the limit of what she was willing to say.
I left her house without knowing the truth.
When I returned home, the kitchen still smelled faintly of coffee.
Tony's mug sat beside the sink.
I picked it up, carried it to the dishwasher, and stood there with the door open.
It was such an ordinary object.
I had washed that mug hundreds of times.
Now I found myself wondering how many ordinary mornings could pass before you realized you had been living beside something you didn't understand.
I closed the dishwasher.
Then I took out my phone and looked at Tony's name.
I could have called him.
I could have sent him a message demanding an answer.
Instead, I put the phone down.
I wanted to hear the truth from his mouth.
Not through a screen.
Not from Dakota.
And not in pieces that left me trying to guess what came next.
For the first time in eight years, I wasn't sure I wanted to make things easier for him.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: Friday Was Still Days Away, but the Silence in Our House Had Already Changed the Way I Looked at My Husband
I Thought Our New Neighbor Was Simply Being Kind Until My Husband Read Something He Never Wanted Me to See
Part 5 of 8
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