You were tucked into a corner booth. The good one. The one with the broken leg that someone had propped up with a folded napkin stack. Simon had fixed it before sitting down.

He always fixed things for you.

Then he leaned down. Pressed a kiss to the top of your head. Lingered half a second longer than necessary.

You watched him go. Because you always watched him go. Sue you.

Which is why you noticed her before she reached your table.

The woman from logistics. The one who'd spent the entire afternoon pretending not to stare at your husband. The one who looked ready to commit crimes every time he called you sweetheart.

She stopped across from you. Arms folded. Jaw tight.

You took another sip of coffee. Your favorite mug. The one with the chipped rim. Simon had tried to replace it. You'd said no.

She glanced toward the door. Making sure Simon was gone. Then back at you. Her smile was sharp. Scalpel-sharp.