The scene hit me like a punch to the gut. In that instant, the truth unraveled before my eyes, far more surreal and painful than any suspicion Mrs. Whitman could have had about me. The woman in the red dress was laughing, her lipstick a vivid slash of crimson, an exact match to the stain that had sparked this turmoil. Mr. Whitman’s eyes widened when he saw us, his hand flinching away, but it was too late. The damage was done.
Mrs. Whitman’s face turned ghostly pale as she processed the scene. Her husband’s betrayal was on full display, laid bare in front of strangers and family alike. Emily, sweet and innocent, sensed the tension and clung to my side, her grip tight with confusion.
