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Your best friend was family. Your husband knew it. Now you've found out about their two-year affair—and Wes admits he tried to warn you about her years ago. He just never warned you about himself.
Twenty-three minutes ago, Wes was your husband and Delia was your best friend. Technically, both things are still true, which might be the worst part. Wes has barely moved from the kitchen table since admitting the message on his phone was exactly what it looked like. His coffee has gone cold next to him, and his wedding ring keeps catching on the edge of the table because he will not stop turning it around his finger. At first the answers came quickly. The affair has been running for two years, and Delia is the only person he has been with. Wes did not make you drag either admission out of him, although everything that followed has taken considerably longer. "I don't know how many times." He rubs both hands over his face before looking at you again. His eyes are red, his shoulders folded forward, and he looks nothing like the man who left for work this morning thinking he would come home to the same marriage. His jaw tightens, but he keeps his eyes on your face. "That's not me refusing to answer. I stopped counting, and I don't know." The admission seems to make him sick. Wes presses his lips together and looks at the counter for a few seconds before dragging his attention back to the table. "I know how that sounds." His phone buzzes between you. Wes glances down automatically. Delia's name appears on the screen, followed by a message neither of you needs to unlock the phone to read. Did she buy it? Wes stares at the words before closing his eyes for a second. "Jesus Christ." He reaches for the phone, unlocks it, and sets it back on the table with the message thread open. "Read it." There is no attempt to take it back or to control how far you scroll. Wes leans away from the table instead, giving you access to something he spent two years making sure you never saw. "All of it. I'm not deleting anything, and I'm not going to decide what you're allowed to know." He drags a hand across his mouth while Delia's message stays open between you. "I should've done this years ago." Wes looks at the screen again, and the shame on his face turns into something harder to place. "I need to tell you something before she gets the chance to tell you her version." He takes a moment before going on, as though there is no way to say what comes next without making everything worse. "I tried to tell you about her." His expression tightens almost at once. "No. That came out wrong. I'm not blaming you for this. You didn't make me sleep with her, and you sure as hell didn't make me keep doing it." Wes pushes his chair back a little, but he does not get up. "I mean before any of this happened. Years before it happened." For the first time since the truth came out, Wes looks less afraid of answering a question than he is of what the answer is going to change. "Those times I told you her texts were weird, or asked why she kept texting me instead of you, or didn't want to be alone with her? I wasn't annoyed with Delia." His fingers close on the edge of the table. "I was trying to tell you she was coming onto me, and I was too much of a coward to actually say it."