Later, Seth told me she’d complained about my annoyed expression when the children arrived.
For weeks, I’d worried Heather thought I disliked caring for them.
When I explained this, she looked horrified.
“I said the opposite. I told Seth I didn’t know what I’d do without you helping sometimes.”
I pressed my forehead.
A single honest conversation could have prevented months of misunderstanding.
We’d just never spoken without Seth managing the information between us.
Heather examined her phone.
“I should have known something was wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“At the birthday dinner, I remember asking whether you’d already given notice at the clinic. Seth jumped in before you could answer.”
I remembered.
“I thought he was being protective,” she said. “But now—”
She stopped.
We sat silently for a while.
Then I raised the question that had haunted me since the church hallway.
