Page 33 of Open Secrets (Infidelity #5)

Maria — Present

“So… things are good between the two of you?”

I nod, almost surprised by how easily the answer comes. “Oddly, yes. I mean—I still have moments of insecurity, of course. But he’s gotten very good at… you know.” I pause, smiling despite myself. “At making me forget.”

Her eyebrows lift, teasing.

I wave a hand, feeling heat creep up my cheeks. “Not just that. I mean—yes, that too. But more than that. He makes me feel like… like a teenager again. Giddy. Wanted.” I let out a soft laugh, the kind that comes from somewhere deep, the kind I didn’t think I had in me anymore.

“And you’ve talked as well?” she asks gently.

“Yes, of course.” My smile softens. “If anything, we’ve become closer than ever.

Whenever he starts to worry—about Cece, about the Army, about…

anything—we just talk. We don’t bottle it.

If we see a house listing we like, we call or text.

And we end up staying on the phone so long that one of us finally has to say, ‘Okay, hang up.’ It’s ridiculous. ”

I lean back, sighing, my chest warm. “It’s like when we first started dating. He’d sneak into my house, and we’d climb up to the roof. Just sit there, whispering about everything and nothing. Hours would pass like minutes.”

I smile wistfully, eyes unfocused. “It was a different time back then. A different us.”

Dr. Nina tilts her head, her smile calm but steady. “It seems like you and Lyle are finding those people again—the versions of yourselves that first fell in love.”

I nod slowly. “We are.”

She shifts in her chair, hands folding in her lap. “And how’s your relationship with your father-in-law?”

Just like that, my smile drops. The warmth drains out of me like someone flipped a switch.

“There goes my mood,” I mutter.

Her expression doesn’t change—still gentle, still curious. “He’s the only one you’ve avoided talking about.”

I shrug, stiff. “There’s nothing to say.”

“Maria,” she says softly, leaning forward. “What’s stopping you from accepting his apology?”

A bitter laugh escapes me, sharp in the quiet room. “Apology? He hasn’t apologized. His wife has. His son has. Even his daughter. But him?” I shake my head, my jaw tight. “He’s never once said, I’m sorry. I was wrong. ”

Dr. Nina’s eyes flicker, catching on the words. “And that’s important for you.”

“Of course it is.” The words fly out before I can stop them.

My chest rises and falls fast, like the memory itself is speeding up my heartbeat.

“I forgave Reagan because—at the end of the day—she tried. Not directly, but she did try to check on us. And I didn’t accept.

I let my pride get in the way. But with his dad…

” I trail off, pressing a hand to my temple.

“With his dad, I tried. I actually went to him. I begged for help. Literally begged. And he looked me in the eye, called me pathetic, and turned his back. Didn’t try. Didn’t help. Just—‘nope.’ Like I was nothing. Like my children were nothing.”

I sit back, air leaving my lungs all at once. “And you don’t come back from that. You just don’t.”

Dr. Nina taps her pen in her lap, her voice careful. “All I ask is that you keep an open mind.”

I nod, but only because I don’t want to hear the speech I know is coming—the one about how Orson is old and probably doesn’t have long. I know that. That’s why I’ve allowed him back into my children’s lives. Doesn’t mean I want to call him Dad.

I clear my throat. “My dad’s doing well.”

Her face softens. “You’ve been back to see him?”

I nod again. “Yeah. I took Remi and Taylor with me. They wanted to see him, and honestly, I thought… maybe seeing them would spark something.”

Dr. Nina’s smile is gentle but sad. “Dementia is… quite hard. Not just on the patient, but on the families too.”

I lean back on the sofa, twisting my fingers together. “The kids were sports about it. They told him stories, little things about school and their friends. He may not have recognized them, but…” My throat thickens, but I push through. “He was happy. And that’s something.”

I stare at the carpet for a long beat, the pattern blurring as my eyes sting. “He was happy,” I repeat, softer this time, almost to myself. “Even if he didn’t know who he was happy with.”

Dr. Nina lets the silence breathe, giving me space to sit with it. Then she leans forward slightly, her tone gentle but deliberate. “Maria… I think you’ve come very far. You’re allowing yourself to be honest—not just about your father, but about your marriage, too.”

I swipe at my eye quickly, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry. “Yeah, well. Honesty isn’t exactly my strong suit.”

“Not with yourself,” she says quietly.

That earns her a sharp little laugh from me, dry as sandpaper. “You’re not wrong.”

She checks the clock on the wall, then looks back at me. “Before we end today, I’d like to suggest something.”

My stomach drops. “Oh, God. You’re going to tell me to journal, aren’t you?”

Her lips twitch in amusement. “Not this time. I’d like Lyle to join us for our next session. If you’re okay with that.”

For a second, I just blink at her. My first instinct is to say no, to shut it down before I even think about it. I’ve liked having this place just to myself. But then I picture him—the way he’s trying to make up for the past.

I take a slow breath. “Okay,” I say finally. “If he can.”

“Good,” she says, smiling. “Then let’s see where the two of you can go together.”

I nod, pushing up from the cushion and grabbing my bag. As I leave, one thought settles in my chest—heavy, terrifying, but not entirely unwelcome.

No more hiding.

I drive straight back to the clinic. Work has gotten busy lately—busier than usual.

People think zero-sugar drinks are healthy. Maybe they’re better than the corn syrup cocktails most soda’s drowning in, but let’s be honest: drink anything but water like it’s water, and it’s gonna do its damage. Teeth don’t care what the label says.

I slip into the parking lot, mindlessly running through the day’s schedule in my head—fillings, checkups, a crown replacement for Mr. Brooks, who talks more than my kids combined.

Normal things. Predictable things.

I push through the glass doors and let the familiar scent of fluoride and antiseptic calm me, just a little. The receptionist glances up, offering me that same polite smile.

“Your next appointment’s running late,” she says. “But a woman stopped by and left this for you.”

She holds out a manilla envelope.

I freeze. My gut twists before my brain even catches up.

“Woman?” I echo. My voice comes out flat.

The receptionist shrugs. “Said you’d know what it’s about.”

My fingers curl around the envelope before I even realize I’ve reached for it. It’s heavier than I expected, the weight of it dragging my arm down.

And just like that, I know.

I know exactly which woman she’s talking about. At least she had the decency to be discrete, at my place of business. Bitch.

I force a tight smile for the receptionist’s sake and turn away before she can see the heat rising in my face. My heels click sharply against the tile as I make my way back to my office.

The second the door clicks shut behind me, I drop the envelope onto my desk like it’s ticking.

It lands with a thud .

I don’t touch it again.

Instead, I sink into my chair, elbows on my knees, and just stare at it.

It’s been a week since I sat across from Cece in that hotel room, since I told her to find the real father and leave us alone. A week of waiting for the other shoe to drop, of watching Lyle’s shoulders stay tight, of pretending to the kids everything was normal.

And now this.

This envelope.

This grenade.

I can’t decide if I should open it now or wait till I get home. My teeth worry at my lip as I stare at it. Finally, I give in, sliding it closer.

It feels wrong in my hands. Whatever’s inside is smaller than I expected—flat, flexible.

Papers or pictures. God, what if she took pictures while they were together and decided to send them to me?

My stomach lurches, nausea swirling. Lyle already swore there were no pictures, no texts, no paper trail.

But he could’ve been asleep after a romp in the sheets.

A shiver runs down my spine.

“Arrgh, I can’t wait.” I rip the side open and let the contents spill across my desk.

Another, smaller envelope falls out. I open the sides of the manila folder and pull out a folded sheet of paper. Hotel stationery. The same one Cece’s been staying at. I unfold it and read:

You win. I’m leaving. You won’t hear from me again.

My stomach flips.

I tear open the second envelope—it’s already been slit. Inside is an official-looking document. A cease-and-desist order. From us to her.

What the hell? Lyle.

I grab my phone and dial.

“Hey,” he answers. “What’s up?”

“I just got a letter from Cece, she’s gone. Did you send her a cease and desist?”

He pauses, then lets out a low whistle. “Wow, she works fast.”

“You told Anna, didn’t you?”

“We met yesterday,” he admits. “Let’s just say she was pissed. At me. And Bethany. I don’t think we have to worry about seeing Bethany at the wedding—or ever again.”

Relief crashes over me. I can’t stop the grin. “Was she okay?”

“Yeah,” he says gently. “Look, I’m heading into a meeting. Talk tonight?”

I nod, though he can’t see me. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” He hangs up.

I lean back in my chair, rolling until I bump the wall. Then I fling my arms into the air and shout:

“Yippee!”

The door bursts open. Debra skids in, eyes wide. “What’s wrong?”

I beam at her. “The bitch is gone.”

Debra blinks, then nods slowly. “For good?”

I throw my hands up again, triumphant. “Forever.”