Nicholas contacted me three days later.
His message was brief.
He asked whether I would be willing to meet and discuss his role in the events at the restaurant.
I read it twice.
I had almost forgotten that I still possessed his card.
I hadn't forgotten him.
I remembered his gray suit.
The calm way he had watched Alex.
The way he had told me to wait.
I also remembered how little he had explained afterward.
I replied that I would meet him in a public place.
We agreed on a café near my office.
When I arrived, he was already there.
He stood when he saw me.
"Thank you for coming."
I sat across from him.
"I have questions."
"I expected that."
"Then answer them."
He nodded.
For a moment, he seemed to be choosing where to begin.
"I was aware that a matter involving Alex's financial paperwork needed to be addressed."
"How were you aware of it?"
"I had information from people involved in the matter."
"Who?"
He explained that he couldn't share every person's name without permission.
I didn't like that answer.
But I had learned that disliking an answer didn't make it false.
I folded my hands on the table.
"Why were you at the restaurant?"
Nicholas told me that he had known Alex would be there that evening.
He also knew that the appropriate people intended to approach him about the matter.
He had been present because he understood that the evening might bring the issue into the open.
I stared at him.
"You knew I would be there too."
"Yes."
"And you watched me discover the affair."
His expression changed.
"I did."
"Why didn't you tell me who you were?"
"Because I wasn't the person responsible for explaining the documents to you."
I shook my head.
"You could have told me that something serious was happening."
"I could have."
He didn't try to excuse himself.
That surprised me.
I had expected him to defend every decision.
Instead, he acknowledged the part that had hurt me.
"I knew you would be upset," he said. "I underestimated what it would feel like to discover everything in the same moment."
I looked through the window.
People were walking past with shopping bags and umbrellas.
I thought about the wineglass in my hand that night.
I thought about the open ring box.
I thought about the woman in black placing my name on the table.
"You told me the kiss wasn't the worst thing Alex had done."
Nicholas nodded.
"I believed the paperwork was the more serious concern."
"Did you know he would propose to her?"
"I knew he intended to make a proposal that evening."
I stared at him.
"How?"
He explained that the timing had become known through information available to the people involved in the matter.
He did not claim to know every private detail of Alex's relationship.
He did not tell me that he had planned the proposal.
He said only that he had expected the situation to become public in some form.
I tried to fit that explanation into what I remembered.
The black box.
The clapping.
The officers.
The document.
The entire sequence had felt almost impossible to believe.
Now I understood that several things had been moving toward the same evening, even though I had known nothing about them.
I asked Nicholas whether he believed Alex had signed my name.
He shook his head.
"I don't want to tell you something the evidence hasn't established."
"Then what do you know?"
"I know there were questions about the paperwork. I know your name appeared on a document you said you hadn't signed. I know the matter needed to be examined."
I looked at him.
"That's not much."
"It's what I can tell you honestly."
I sat back.
For the first time, I understood why his answers had seemed so frustrating.
He had known enough to recognize the seriousness of the situation.
He had not necessarily known enough to give me the explanation I wanted.
That didn't excuse the way he had handled my distress.
But it made the evening less mysterious.
I asked whether he had any personal connection to Alex.
Nicholas said their paths had crossed through the matter, but he wasn't going to pretend they were friends.
I asked whether he had anything to gain from the outcome.
He explained his involvement as limited to helping ensure the issue reached the people responsible for addressing it.
I listened carefully.
I didn't accept every answer automatically.
I didn't reject every answer because I was angry.
I had learned that both reactions could prevent me from seeing what was actually in front of me.
Finally, I asked why he had given me his card.
"Because I knew you would want to understand why I had spoken to you."
I turned the card over between my fingers.
The blank back looked exactly as it had that night.
"You could have given me more information."
"Yes."
"Why didn't you?"
Nicholas looked down.
"I thought waiting until the right people arrived would prevent you from being pulled into an argument before the matter could be addressed."
I thought about the glass in my hand.
Perhaps he had been right that I should wait.
But he hadn't understood what it felt like to sit there while Alex proposed to another woman.
I told him so.
He listened.
When I finished, he apologized.
It was brief.
It didn't repair the memory.
But it was the first apology I had received that evening that didn't come with an explanation of why the other person had been justified.
I stood to leave.
Nicholas asked whether I had any further questions.
I looked at him.
"One."
He waited.
"Do you think I'll ever know the whole truth?"
He considered the question.
"I think you'll know more than you know now. Whether every question can be answered depends on what the evidence establishes."
I nodded.
It wasn't comforting.
It was honest.
I left the café and returned to work.
That evening, I placed Nicholas's card beside my notes.
I no longer saw him as a stranger who somehow knew everything.
He was a man who had known more than I did, but less than I had imagined.
The distinction mattered.
I had spent weeks searching for someone who could explain the entire evening in one conversation.
No one could do that.
Not Nicholas.
Not Laura.
Not even Alex, unless he chose to tell the truth and the evidence supported what he said.
I put the card away.
Then I turned off the kitchen light and went to bed.
I still had questions.
But I was no longer willing to fill the gaps with guesses simply because uncertainty hurt.
Click here to continue reading: PART 19: Alex Asked for One Final Conversation About Our Marriage, and I Agreed Only After I Understood What I Was No Longer Willing to Sacrifice
My Husband Sent Me an Anniversary Message While Sitting Close Enough for Me to See the Woman He Had Chosen Instead
Part 18 of 20
