One Summer In Paris. Sarah Morgan

boring.” Her hands were shaking and she clasped them in her lap.

      “It’s not you, Grace. It’s me.”

      The fact that he was shouldering the blame didn’t help. “How can it be all you? I’m the one you’re married to and you’re unhappy—which means I’m doing something wrong.” And the problem was that she loved the fact that their life was predictable. “I grew up with unpredictability, David. Believe me, it’s overrated.”

      “I know what you grew up with.”

      Of course he did.

      Was she boring? God, was it true?

      It was true that she was a little obsessed about them being good parents to Sophie, but that was important to David, too.

      He undid another button on his shirt and gestured to the waiter to bring more water. “Why is it so hot in here? I don’t feel too good… I can’t remember what I was saying…”

      She didn’t feel too good, either. “You were telling me you want a divorce.”

      She hadn’t believed that word would ever come up in a conversation between her and David, and she wished it hadn’t come up now, in a public place. At least two of the people in the bistro had children in her class—which was unfortunate, given the nature of this conversation.

       Mommy says you’re getting divorced, Mrs. Porter, is that right?

      “Grace—”

      David took a sip of water, and she noticed there was a tremor in his hand. He was looking pale and ill.

      She was pretty sure that if she looked in the mirror she’d think the same about herself.

      What about Sophie? She’d be devastated. What if she was too upset to go away for the summer? It was terrible, awful timing.

      Monica would probably blame red meat. Too much testosterone.

      “We can talk to someone, if you think that would help. Whatever it is that needs working on, we’ll work on it.”

      “Fixing our marriage isn’t something you can add to your ‘To Do’ list, Grace.”

      She felt color flood into her cheeks, because mentally she’d been doing exactly that. “We’ve been married for twenty-five years. There is nothing—nothing—we can’t fix.”

      “I’m having an affair.”

      The words were like a solid punch to her gut.

      “No!” Her voice cracked. And that was how she felt. Cracked. Broken. As if she were a piece of fine china he’d flung against the cabinet. “Tell me that isn’t true.”

      She was going to be sick. Right here in a pretty little French bistro, in front of an audience of around fifty people, she was going to be sick.

      She could imagine how the kids in her class would react to that.

       Did you barf, miss?

       Yes, Connor. I barfed, but it had nothing to do with the duck.

      David looked worse than she felt. “I didn’t plan it, Grace.”

      “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

      She had a thousand questions.

       Who is this woman? Do I know her? How long has it been going on?

      In the end she asked only one. “Do you love her?”

      David rubbed his fingers over his forehead. “I—Yes. I think so, yes.”

      She almost doubled over. Not just sex, then, but feelings. Strong feelings.

      It was the ultimate betrayal.

      She stood, although her legs didn’t seem to agree with the decision. They felt like water. But she didn’t want the local community to witness any more of this conversation—not for his sake but for hers and Sophie’s. How much had people heard already? Was she going to be stopped in the supermarket?

       I hear David doesn’t love you? That must be tough.

      “Let’s go.”

      “Grace, wait!” David fumbled for some bills and dropped them on the table without counting them.

      Grace was already halfway to the door, the box filled with her Paris plans tucked under her arm. She had no idea why it seemed so important to take it with her. Maybe she didn’t want to leave her dreams lying around. The happy summer she’d spent months planning wasn’t going to happen. Instead, they’d spend the time dividing up property and belongings and consulting lawyers.

      The reality of it swamped her.

      David was the love of her life. He was the solid foundation upon which she’d constructed her wonderfully safe, predictable world. Without him the whole thing would crumble.

      She felt as if she was having an out-of-body experience. Her mind was elsewhere but her body was still here in this bistro, going through the motions. Smiling, leaving—thank you, yes, the meal was delicious—as if her life hadn’t just been torn apart.

      David pressed his hand to his chest again and shook his head when the waiter offered him his coat. “Grace, I’m not feeling too good—”

       Seriously?

      “Oddly enough, I’m not feeling too good, either.”

      Did he expect sympathy?

      “I feel as if—I can’t—”

      David staggered and then collapsed, sending a trolley and a coat stand flying. The weight of him hit the floor with a sickening thud.

      Grace couldn’t move.

      Was this what shock did to you? Did it freeze you into a useless object?

      Silence had fallen across the restaurant. She was vaguely aware that a few diners were standing up, the better to see what was going on. Waiters had turned to look at her, panic and expectation in their eyes.

      David was on the floor, sweat covering his brow and his eyes bulging.

      He clawed at the collar of his shirt and pressed his hand to his chest.

      His eyes met hers and she saw the terror there.

       Help me…help me.

      “Call the emergency services.” She was fascinated by how normal she sounded.

      She was trained in first aid, but her body and mind were paralyzed by the knowledge that her husband of twenty-five years didn’t love her anymore.

      He’d been unfaithful to her. He’d had sex with another woman. Probably multiple times. How long had it been going on? Where? In their bed or somewhere else?

      David’s throat made a rattling sound and Grace examined her response with a mixture of awe and curiosity. Was she seriously considering not resuscitating him?

       My name is Grace Porter and I murdered my husband.

      No, not murder. Murder was premeditated. This was more…opportunistic.

      If he died she wouldn’t even know who to call to break the news. She’d have to look around her at the funeral and try to identify the one woman who was crying as hard as she was.

      Dimly registering the clattering and panic around her, Grace stared down at him for what felt like minutes but was in fact no more than a few seconds.

      This was the man she loved. They’d had a child together. She’d assumed they’d grow old together.

      If he was bored with his life, why hadn’t he said something?

      The injustice of it almost strangled her