The words landed like ice.

“To another woman?”

Robert closed his eyes.

He didn’t have to answer.

My mind instantly connected every late night, every scratch, every unfamiliar smell clinging to his jacket.

“How long?” I whispered.

“No,” he said quickly. “It isn’t what you’re thinking.”

I laughed bitterly.

Part 3:

“Men always say that when it’s exactly what we’re thinking.”

His expression crumpled.

“I was only trying to do something good.”

“With another woman’s handbag?”

He looked toward the folded paper.

“It’s too late to change any of this now.”

My hands trembled.

Before fear could stop me, I dialed the number.

The phone rang twice.

A woman answered.

“Millbrook Hospice Services. This is Anna.”

I froze.

Across the kitchen, Robert slowly sank into a chair.

“Hospice?” I asked.

“Yes. How may I help you?”

“My name is Elaine. I found this number inside a handbag.”

There was a long silence.

Then Anna spoke gently.

“Elaine… Margaret hoped you’d call.”

“Who is Margaret?”

“She was one of our patients.”

My heart skipped.

“She passed away two weeks ago.”

The room seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

“Why would her handbag be in my house?”

“Because she left it for you.”

Nothing made sense anymore.