When he’d stepped into that room and found Kathy standing there, it had taken him a couple of seconds to process exactly what he was seeing. There was no possible way that Kathy should be standing in Stephanie’s living room. It was just wrong. And yet there they were: his wife and his mistress, standing together with identical expressions on their faces. The pieces fell together quickly—especially when Kathy stepped forward and hit him across the face. He ran his tongue over the raw, chipped edge of his tooth. In the eighteen years they’d been married, she’d never raised her hand to him. He rubbed the palm of his hand against his jaw; she packed a fairly good punch too! Kathy knew. Initially, he had thought that Stephanie had contacted Kathy. She’d been putting him under increasing pressure of late to make a decision. She wanted him to choose—his wife or his lover. He knew that Christmas was a particularly hard time for her . . . but what Stephanie seemed to forget was that it was an equally difficult time for him.
