I had never cheated on my husband.
Not once. Not ever. Not in some gray emotional way that could later be explained away with excuses. I had been faithful in every sense of the word, and whatever game Diane Whitmore had chosen to play in that hospital room, I was not going to lose it by panicking first.
So I smiled.
Not because I was amused.
Because I had learned, over the last three years of being married into the Whitmore family, that the one thing Diane hated most was calm she couldn’t control.
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