“I have to tell you something, and I’m really nervous about it.” Stephanie folded her hands, clutching them tightly. Questions swirled in Bea’s hazel eyes. “I think we’re good enough friends that you won’t hold this against me, but if you don’t want to talk to me after this, I understand.”
“We’re not in high school.” Bea flung a stray onion off her cheese, closed the bun and bit into it. “Nothing you could say would kill our friendship. I’ve done things I’m not proud of.”
Nothing like this. Stephanie drew her shoulders back. “I used to be married. Five years ago, to be exact. The whole romance whizzed by quicker than a Michigan spring. Within six months of saying ‘I do,’ we split up. During the divorce, I found out I was pregnant, but the way things ended... I didn’t think he’d ever want to see me again.”
Bea’s sandwich hovered next to her mouth. Stephanie didn’t know what to say. Then Bea blinked and made a rolling gesture with her arm. “Well, go on.”
Her teeth chattered. “Everything fell apart that year. I dropped out of school before the wedding. My college friends—the same ones I’d had all through high school—wanted me to hang out and party with them. Tom was working his way up at his dad’s company and had no time for me. I spent more and more evenings with my friends and their friends, and one friend in particular. He listened. Looked at me like I was somebody. Made me feel less lonely. We started meeting on our own. I justified it, telling myself Tom wasn’t paying attention to me, that it didn’t hurt anyone because we were just talking. But Tom drove into the city one day, and he saw us holding hands.”
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