Page 22 of Forgiveness River

Both women were dressed in black—Raven’s explicit instructions when Sophie had arrived to pick her up. “We’re not exactly being subtle in a town this size,” Sophie had said, “but at least we won’t glow in the dark.”

Getting out of the house hadn’t been simple. Sophie had insisted on telling Hank where she was going and why, refusing to keep secrets from her husband. He’d been adamantly against the idea at first, wanting to come along or even to confront Wyatt directly.

“This is between Raven and Wyatt,” Sophie had told him firmly. “We’re just going to see where he goes, nothing more.”

Hank had reluctantly agreed, but not before making them promise to call if anything seemed off. “I don’t like secrets,” he’d said. “Especially not when they’re hurting family.”

Now, sitting in the darkened car, Raven was grateful for Sophie’s steady presence beside her. And for Hank’s concern—it was good to know someone else cared about what was happening to her marriage.

“I need to know,” Raven insisted, her eyes fixed on the café windows. From their vantage point, they could see most of the interior—the counter with its row of vinyl-covered stools, the booths along the wall, the tired waitress refilling coffee cups.

Wyatt sat alone in a booth at the far end, his back to the wall, giving him a clear view of both the door and the parking lot—never sit with your back to an entrance—but tonight it felt like further evidence of his secretive behavior.

“He’s just sitting there,” Sophie observed. “Drinking coffee. Maybe this isn’t what you think.”

“Then why the secret phone? Why the cryptic text?” Raven countered, unable to tear her gaze away from her husband’s familiar profile. Even at this distance, she could read the tension in his posture, the alertness that was at odds with the casual setting.

“I don’t know,” Sophie admitted. “But Wyatt loves you. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Raven. Like you’re the answer to every prayer he’s ever said.”

“Then why are we here?” Raven asked, the question directed as much at herself as at Sophie. “Why are we sitting in a car at one in the morning, spying on my husband?”

Before Sophie could answer, the café door opened, and a woman entered. She was slender and professional looking, her dark hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, her movements crisp and purposeful as she scanned the interior and then headed directly for Wyatt’s booth.

Raven’s heart clenched as she watched Wyatt stand to greet the woman. There was no embrace, no kiss, just a businesslike nod before they both sat down.

“That doesn’t look like a romantic meeting,” Sophie ventured cautiously.

“Maybe she’s more discreet in public,” Raven said, hating the bitter edge that had crept into her voice.

They watched in tense silence as the waitress brought coffee for the woman. Wyatt leaned forward, saying something that caused the woman to nod sharply. Their conversation appeared intense but controlled, their expressions serious.

“I can’t just sit here,” Raven decided suddenly, reaching for the door handle.

“Whoa,” Sophie said, grabbing her arm. “What are you going to do? Storm in there and make a scene?”

“I’m going to get answers,” Raven said, her voice breaking. “I’m tired of waiting, Sophie. I’m tired of pretending everything’s fine when my marriage is falling apart around me.”

Sophie’s expression softened with understanding. “I know. But ambushing him in a public place might not be the best way to get those answers.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Raven asked, frustration edging her words. “That I keep waiting while he meets this woman in the middle of the night? That I ignore the evidence right in front of me?”

“No,” Sophie said. “But?—”

She broke off as the woman in the café abruptly stood, gathering what looked like a manila folder from the table. She and Wyatt exchanged a few more words before she turned and headed for the door. There was nothing intimate in their farewell—no lingering glances, no brush of hands. If anything, there seemed to be a professional distance between them.

“She’s leaving,” Raven observed, watching as the woman exited the café and walked to the sedan parked several spaces away from Wyatt’s truck. “After only fifteen minutes.”

“That’s not exactly a romantic rendezvous,” Sophie pointed out.

“Unless something spooked them,” Raven countered, though she felt the first flicker of doubt about her assumptions.

The woman’s sedan pulled out of the parking lot, its headlights sweeping briefly across their car before disappearing down the road toward the highway.

Inside the café, Wyatt remained seated, his hands wrapped around his coffee mug, his expression pensive. There was something in his posture—a weariness, a resignation—that made him look like a stranger to Raven. The man she’d married had always carried himself with confidence, with purpose. This Wyatt looked burdened, as if the weight on his shoulders had become almost too much to bear.

For a brief moment, compassion overrode her hurt and suspicion. Whatever was happening, it was clearly taking a toll on him too.

Then he looked up, his gaze drawn to movement outside, and Raven realized with a jolt that Sophie had switched on the interior light while searching for something in her purse.

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