Chapter3

The call ended. I tried his number again, but his phone was off.

I finished typing the message I'd meant to send in the first place. His mother had called to invite us over for a family meal the next day. I told him when she expected us, then set the phone down.

I doubted he would come.

I ordered flowers and picked up a bottle of the wine she liked. If he didn't show up, at least I could give her something and make an excuse for him.

She had always been affectionate with me, often treating me more like a daughter than a daughter-in-law. After my parents died, that affection had become one of the few things I still had to lean on. I didn't want her waiting for both of us and wondering why I'd come alone.

Once the order was placed, I opened Instagram. Before I'd quite decided to do it, I was looking at Vanessa's page.

Her first photo with Ethan was from three years ago. She was grinning at the camera; he was looking at her.

I scrolled through coffee runs, dinners out, weekend getaways. When she wanted French food, he had it delivered. When she wanted company, he was there. She'd documented every bit of it—the kind of ordinary attention I'd stopped asking him for.

One post celebrated their first anniversary. I remembered that night. He'd been at home until she called in tears because she missed him. Then he'd left.

Another photo reminded me of my birthday dinner. My parents had been sitting at the table when Ethan got up to go. He was usually careful in front of them, but that night Vanessa had cooked for him and wanted him to try her food.

He hadn't stayed to finish the meal with us.

I kept scrolling. I knew these were the moments Vanessa wanted people to see, but I also remembered the absences that went with them.

I'd asked myself so many times whether I regretted marrying Ethan. Even now, I couldn't quite say I did. That was the part I found hardest to understand. I could recognize what he was doing to me and still want him to come home.

Her latest post was five minutes old.

She was curled against a man's chest. His face wasn't visible, but I knew the small mole on his wrist.

Under the photo was a comment from Ethan.

Still have enough energy to post?

Vanessa had replied with a playful emoji.

Oops. Forgive me, darling?

I put the phone facedown. For a while, I concentrated on breathing until I could trust myself to pick it up again.

I wanted to ask him something I would never put in a message.

If I stopped loving you, would you even be a little sad?

The next morning, I arrived at the Caldwell residence carrying the gift.

"Claire."

I stopped at the front door. Ethan had parked behind me. His voice was so gentle that, for a second, I heard the boy who had come to see me on New Year's Eve.

He took the gift from my hand and rested his other hand at my waist.

"Thank you."

I looked up at him. He was close enough that I could have leaned against him, but the ease I'd seen on television was gone. He was already watching the door.

I went with him.

"About last night," he said, "I'm sorry."

He didn't explain what he meant. I thought of the phone call. By then, I was convinced Vanessa had wanted me to hear them, though neither of them had told me that.

"You don't have to apologize," I said. "She's the one you want to be Mrs. Caldwell."

His hand shifted against my waist.

I looked down. I was tired, but saying it aloud didn't mean I'd stopped hoping. Some part of me was still waiting for him to contradict me. I'd spent years finding reasons to wait a little longer.

Instead, he took my hand and led me inside.

"Mom, we're here."

His mother sat on the sofa with a wineglass clenched in her hand. No one greeted us. The household staff stood to one side, looking at the floor.

Ethan started toward a chair.

"Stay where you are."

We stopped.

No one had to tell me she'd seen the broadcast. I had never seen her this angry, and being the person she usually welcomed did nothing to make me feel safe in that silence.

"Mom, this has nothing to do with Claire," Ethan said.

"Did I ask you, Ethan Caldwell?"

She slammed the glass onto the table. It broke with a crack that made me flinch.

I stood beside him, unsure where to look. During my two years in the family, I'd spent enough time in this house to know its routines, but I had never felt certain of my place. Some of the staff barely treated me as his wife. After my parents died, they had become even less careful about hiding it.

His mother rose and came toward me.

"Do you know what you did wrong, Claire?"

"I'm not sure what you mean, Mom."

She folded her arms and looked from me to Ethan.

"You can't even keep your own husband in line. You don't think that's your fault? He flirts with another woman in front of everyone, and now the media won't stop talking about it. Aren't you embarrassed? Because I am."

My face grew hot. I wanted to look at Ethan, but I couldn't bear to see his expression while she spoke about me that way.

She stopped in front of me, her hand already rising.

I told myself she was trying to force Ethan to care about me, to make him understand what he'd done. I needed to believe she was helping. Yet I couldn't make myself move.

"Mom, what are you doing?"

Ethan caught her wrist.

"What does it look like? Does that upset you?"

She pulled free and swung.

I shut my eyes. The pain I braced for didn't come.

When I opened them, Ethan was standing between us. He'd taken the slap meant for me.

"That's enough, Mom," he said. "You've made your point. Let's eat before the food gets cold."

I held my own hand tightly and waited. He had stopped her from hitting me, but no one had taken back what she'd said.

Only when she relented and turned toward the dining room did I dare to follow.