He cast a desperate, pleading look over at his wife.

Eleanor was shaking her head, dark streaks of expensive mascara ruining her immaculate makeup, silently begging him to keep the secret buried.

But Richard was staring at the glowing lenses of the phones. He was a man obsessed with public relations, and his analytical mind knew that my revelation had already destroyed their narrative.

The only way to salvage even a microscopic fraction of his humanity was to finally, tell the truth in public.

“I have to say it, El,” Richard whispered, though the microphone carried the intimate surrender to the entire lawn. “They are recording us. The world is going to know the truth by nightfall anyway.”