He brought me here so you could tell me the truth. Please.” She looked at me, a tear escaping and rolling down her cheek. “Did he leave you, or did you do those things to him?” I reached into my pocket, pulled out a clean tissue, and gently handed it to her.

I guided her to sit down in Chair Three—the chair her brother had occupied for weeks just to learn the truth. “He left me,” I said firmly, ensuring she heard the absolute conviction in my voice.

“He walked out on a Tuesday, left me with a pile of debt, and I haven’t heard a word from him since. You are not crazy, Chloe. He is exactly who your brother says he is.” The relief that washed over her face was heartbreaking.

She broke down in loud, ugly sobs, leaning forward into her hands. I didn’t even think about it; I just wrapped my arms around her shoulders, holding the woman who I thought was my enemy, while she grieved the illusion of the man we had both loved.

When I looked up, Mark was watching me. The investigative, guarded look in his eyes was completely gone, replaced by a profound, overwhelming gratitude. We spent the next hour in the breakroom. I locked the salon doors early, made a fresh pot of coffee, and helped them formulate a plan.

I gave Chloe the contact information for the aggressive divorce attorney I couldn’t afford a year ago but who I knew did pro-bono consultations for domestic abuse victims. When they finally got up to leave, the rain had stopped outside. Mark lingered by the door after Chloe stepped out onto the pavement.