His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. "There are no surveillance cameras in the restroom, Wendy. You knew that. You thought you could act without being caught."
I stared at him, stunned at the absurdity of his certainty. "No cameras?" I echoed, disbelief thick in my voice. "Then how can you be sure it was me?"
"Why would Candice lie?" he snapped, frustration boiling over. "She’s not someone who lies about things like this."
"But I am?" My voice quivered, cracked with the weight of betrayal.
Seven years. Seven long years I stood by him through every hardship, every victory. And in a single moment, Candice’s words obliterated everything we’d built.
"I see," I whispered, the ache settling deep in my chest. "Believe what you want."
I turned to leave, unable to tolerate another second in his presence.
"Wendy, don’t walk away!" he barked, his command echoing in the hallway. But I didn’t stop. The sting on my face throbbed, a harsh reminder of where I stood in his life.
Returning to the dining room felt impossible. I didn’t want to darken the joyful mood of my colleagues who had done nothing but support me. Instead, I headed to the front counter, requested the bill, and left a message for the group: