The place I had been picturing as a client’s conference room for more than a year.

I did not want another explanation delivered entirely through my husband.

I wanted to meet the woman whose name had been hidden beneath our bed.

PART 6 — The Woman at the Blue House

Before I drove far, I pulled into a safe place and checked the address.

I was going southwest from Atlanta toward Columbus, not into some distant northern town I had imagined from Christopher’s vague descriptions.

The journey was substantial enough to need planning, but not so far that his visits had required the mystery he made of them.