“I know.”
“He was embarrassed.”
“I know.”
“He thought he could fix it before you found out.”
I looked at her.
“You knew?”
She looked down.
“I knew he was having problems.”
“When?”
“A while ago.”
“How long?”
She didn’t answer.
I stood.
“How long did you know my husband had lost his job?”
“About a year.”
A year.
I felt something inside me crack.
“You knew for a year.”
Margaret nodded slowly.
“And you still watched me work overtime.”
“He said he was going to get another job.”
“He told me he was working.”
“I know.”
The room went silent.
I looked at Nathan.
“So every morning when you left the house…”
He lowered his head.
“You weren’t going to work.”
“No.”
“You were pretending.”
“Yes.”
“And every time I asked how work was…”
“I lied.”
The honesty of that answer hurt more than another excuse would have.
