PART 2: My husband went to the beach for 15 days with his “best friend” and came back thinking I was just going to cry

He reached for the phone, his fingers trembling so violently that he knocked over my cold coffee. The dark liquid pooled across the table, soaking into the medical reports, turning the white paper a muddy brown.

“Don’t touch it,” I whispered. My voice was calm—scarily calm. “You’ve touched enough things that don’t belong to you this week.”

Diego’s breath continue reading …