Chapter 5 - Jasmine's Version

Jasmine Cole asked to meet me on a Thursday afternoon.

Nathan hated the idea.

“Absolutely not.”

“She contacted me through counsel.”

“That does not improve it.”

“She wants to explain.”

“You do not need her explanation.”

“I know.”

He studied me across his desk.

“Then why go?”

“Because for three years I built a whole woman in my head out of photographs, whispers, seating charts, and Aaron’s absences. I want to know which parts are real.”

Nathan sighed.

“Public place.”

“Agreed.”

“Your phone stays recording only if Massachusetts law allows and everyone consents.”

“I’m not trying to trap her.”

“Good.”

“No alcohol.”

“I’m not nineteen.”

“Your Slack judgment suggests temporary adolescence.”

I pointed at him.

“That joke is getting old.”

“No, it’s maturing beautifully.”

We met at a quiet hotel café in Cambridge.

Jasmine was already there.

She stood when I approached.

“Claire.”

“Jasmine.”

She looked different without the company armor.

No tailored blazer.

No perfect blowout.

Just dark jeans, a gray sweater, and a face that had not slept.

“Thank you for coming.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

We sat.

For several seconds, neither of us touched the menus.

Finally, I said, “Did you love him?”

She looked directly at me.

“No.”

“Did he love you?”

“I don’t know.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is the only one I have.”

I folded my hands.

“Start with the first night he stayed at your condo.”

She nodded.

“November second. He had been drinking after the MercerTech dinner.”

“That dinner ended at ten.”

“He stayed at the bar with two investors. They left around midnight. Aaron kept drinking.”

“And you took him home.”

“I tried to call you.”

My stomach tightened.

“What?”

“I asked him for your number.”

“He said?”

“That you were asleep and would be furious if I woke you.”

I laughed quietly.

“Convenient.”

“I should have insisted.”

“Yes.”

“I know.”

She did not defend herself.

That disarmed me more than excuses would have.

“Second night?”

“January twenty-third. He showed up at my building.”

“Uninvited?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“He said you had asked whether he was still married to the company or to you.”

I remembered the argument.

I had thrown my wedding ring onto the dresser.

Not at him.

Near him.

Still, I remembered.

“He said he couldn’t stand another fight.”

“So you let him stay.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Jasmine looked down.

“Because I liked being the person he chose when he didn’t want to be home.”

There it was.

Not innocence.

Not seduction.

Something uglier because it was ordinary.

I leaned back.

“Thank you for finally saying something honest.”

Her eyes glistened.

“I told myself it was friendship. I told myself he needed someone who understood the pressure.”

“And I didn’t?”

“I barely knew you.”

“You didn’t need to know me to know he had a wife.”

“No.”

I waited.

She continued.

“He talked about you constantly.”

That surprised me.

“What did he say?”

“That you were calm. That you hated corporate dinners. That you made fun of his ties. That you cooked when you were anxious.”

My throat tightened.

“He talked about you like home.”

“Then why did he avoid coming home?”

“I think home was where he had to be accountable.”

The answer hurt because it sounded true.

“And with you?”

“He could be impressive.”

I looked at her.

Jasmine’s expression did not change.

“I admired him. I challenged him at work, but personally, I made it easy for him to feel like the version of himself he wanted to be.”

“Successful.”

“Necessary.”

I thought of every late-night message.

Every emergency.

Every crisis that somehow required Aaron specifically.

“Last night?”

She exhaled.

“He came to my office after the board dinner. He had been drinking. He said you barely looked at him anymore.”

“He noticed?”

“I told him to go home.”

“And then?”

“He said home felt like a courtroom.”

“That is dramatic, even for Aaron.”

“He kissed me.”

I gripped the edge of the table.

“Did you kiss him back?”

“For maybe one second.”

I met her eyes.

“One second is still an answer.”

“Yes.”

Then she said, “I pushed him away.”

“Why?”

“Because I finally saw what I had become.”

I waited.

“The woman helping a married man feel misunderstood.”

The waiter approached.

Neither of us ordered.

Jasmine continued.

“I told him to go home. He said he couldn’t drive. I let him sleep on my couch. I stayed in my bedroom.”

“Did you text him after I posted?”

“No.”

“Did he text you?”

She took out her phone.

“I brought everything.”

She slid it across the table.

Dozens of messages.

Most were work.

Some were not.

AARON: You understand me better than anyone at home.

JASMINE: Don’t say that.

AARON: It’s true.

JASMINE: Then fix home instead of making me responsible for it.

Another.

AARON: I can’t go back there tonight.

JASMINE: You can. You just don’t want to.

My chest tightened.

“You told him to go home.”

“More than once.”

“But you also kept opening the door.”

“Yes.”

I handed the phone back.

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Because the company investigation will get it anyway.”

“That’s not why.”

She looked away.

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Because everyone thinks I stole something from you.”

I waited.

“And I need to say that I helped him neglect it, but I didn’t steal it.”

I sat very still.

“That is the first thing you’ve said I completely agree with.”

Her eyes filled.

“I’m sorry.”

“I believe you.”

She looked surprised.

“I’m not forgiving you.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Good.”

I stood.

Jasmine rose too.

At the door, she said, “Claire?”

I turned.

“He was proud of you.”

I almost laughed.

“He had a strange way of showing it.”

“I know.”

I walked out into the cold.

For months, I had imagined Jasmine as the answer to what was wrong with my marriage.

She wasn’t.

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She was evidence.

The problem had always been Aaron.