With face red from crying, the man knelt toward me from beneath the tangled blanket.
"Mac, I'm sorry. Kelly and I shouldn't have done this, but our love has grown beyond control.”
“Please, just let us be together.”
His groveling posture mirrored the posture he had made at the first year we met, when he'd been cornered by thugs at the alley entrance.
It was also in the same year that, to protect him, I—a model student—had completely offended that gang. For a long time afterward, I dared not take shortcuts.
I once had Kelly personally hand him the wedding bouquet, wishing him the happiness he deserved.
And now he was lying in my wife's arms, begging me to give them a blessing.
Tears streamed down my face as I murmured, "When did it start?”
His lips trembled, unable to speak.
But someone answered for him.
“Does it matter? Are you done making a scene? This is the company, not your home.”
“Does it not matter? Kelly! Does it not matter?” I asked her hysterically.
She stood there naked, but her gaze was unflinching.
“Fine! I'll tell you!”
“Last March, when you abandoned me and fled to the south, we were together.”