"Vanessa," I say calmly, "my personal life is not a public issue."
It's not aggressive, it's borderline. She blinks once.
"I didn't say it as a public issue."
"Then even less..."
The table around it continues to talk about business, investments, markets. No one perceives the silent battle that is going on between us.
But we do, she supports the fork.
"I just wanted clarity."
That's the key word, clarity. I loved it once too.
I wanted clarity when I saw her name on my husband's phone, I wanted clarity when he was late from endless meetings. I wanted clarity when I found that trace of lipstick on his shirt.
I didn't get it, I got rational explanations.
Minimizations.
"You're exaggerating." Not today. Today I am not the one who seeks tranquility.
"Sometimes," I reply softly, "the
