4
That night, Julian came home flushed and a little drunk.
He leaned in to kiss me. I turned my head without thinking—and noticed a small split on his upper lip.
“What happened to your lip?”
“Hm? I bit it by accident at dinner.”
“You bit your upper lip while eating?”
I leaned against the headboard and asked it quietly.
His face darkened, and irritation crept into his voice.
“Claire, what are you trying to pick a fight about now? I spent the whole day dealing with donors and the press. I’m exhausted. I really don’t have the energy to coddle you.”
“…”
“Go sleep in the guest room.”
I said it flatly, eyes lowered, and let the lip go.
He frowned slightly. “What did you say?”
For the last two years, my mother-in-law had complained that the baby waking at night disturbed her son’s sleep, and she’d suggested many times that we sleep in separate rooms. I might be a pushover, but on that one point I’d never given in, and she’d resented me bitterly for it.
Now, looking at the intricate pattern on the duvet, I said calmly:
“Lucy’s been fighting her sleep lately, and you’re busy getting the big show ready. You need your rest. You should sleep in the guest room.”
“Whatever you want.”
He looked at me heavily and gave a sarcastic little laugh.
At the door, he suddenly stopped.
“Honestly, with you in the shape you’re in now, it’s always a stretch for me anyway. Thanks for being so understanding.”
The door shut.
The room went dead silent.
I looked out at the dark for a while, then picked up the phone I’d left face-down beside me.
On the screen was Tiffany’s website, still open. In the corner of the page for that diamond necklace was a note about a special promotion:
Purchase the limited-edition necklace and receive the matching earrings as a gift.
Without any expression at all, I switched over to Sloane’s Instagram Live.
On camera, her cheeks were flushed, a smile at the corners of her mouth. She was pleasantly tipsy.
The comments were flying: Sloane looks so happy—new relationship??
Sloane smiled. “Not yet. But I am in a good mood today. Something I wished for for years finally got an answer, so I had a couple of extra drinks.”
OMG spill!
The famous photographer’s drunk and telling the truth!
Sloane laughed, tipsy.
“I’ve got nothing to hide. You all know I’ve always done things my own way. The craziest thing I ever did was the night before a big moment in the life of the man I loved—I offered myself to him, completely, holding nothing back.”
WHOA!!!
And then?? Did he fall for it??
Sloane swept her curls back with all the allure in the world.
“That time, he got cold feet. He chose a woman who colors inside the lines. But today, he showed me—he regrets it. He regrets it like crazy.”
On that last sentence, she ran one long, pale finger slowly across her red lips.
Then what are you waiting for! Love isn’t a crime, go get him back!
But doesn’t he have a family? Is that really okay…
Sloane raised a dismissive eyebrow.
“The woman he’s with? I used to think of her as competition. Now? Ha. Calling it a competition would be beneath me. And you all underestimate me. Why would I ever be some sneaking-around other woman?”
So what are you going to do?
“When I, Sloane Quinn, want something, I never give up.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she slowly smiled.
“Grabbing it would be boring.”
“You make a man see the difference for himself, until he comes crawling back and begging to have you again. That’s what a woman’s real skill looks like.”
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at the bloated, exhausted woman inside it.
I didn’t move.
Thunder rolled outside. After days of muggy heat, Boston was finally going to get its first autumn rain.
Doreen pushed the door open without knocking.
“Claire, drink your lactation broth.”
I didn’t move.
“What’s wrong with you? I want to get back down to my room and rest. Don’t waste my time!” Her tone was impatient, full of the arrogance of a servant who thinks she runs the house.
I turned around and tilted my head, looking at her.
“I’m not drinking it.”
Her brows knotted, and her voice shot up.
“Then don’t blame me when I tell the elder Mrs. Lowell exactly what happened!”
I gave a soft laugh, my voice as gentle as ever.
“Go ahead, Doreen. Go tell her right now.”
Her eyes went wide, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
I went on, still gentle:
“Oh, and just so you know—if you ever barge into my bedroom without knocking again, I’m calling 911 and reporting you for stealing Mrs. Lowell’s gold Cartier brooch out of her vanity. Oh, right. Your son’s applying to the Massachusetts police academy, isn’t he? His background check isn’t finished yet, is it?”
Her clouded eyes jerked. She stood there stunned for a few seconds, then turned and hurried out.
As her flustered back retreated,
the door was eased shut behind her, very carefully, very quietly.
The autumn sky was high and blue, so clean it almost didn’t look real. I sat by the slide at the neighborhood park and tipped my head back, lost in it.
After a long time, I sighed softly.
“What a lovely day…”
When I pushed Lucy home, my mother-in-law was sitting at the long dining table with her arms folded, her face like ice.
Julian and Melissa were both out today. At times like this, she always found a hundred things to criticize—never mind that I’d come home with the baby an hour late.
“Didn’t your family teach you any basic manners? Making the whole house wait for dinner? Don’t you know that at my age my blood sugar drops if I go without eating? I’m so unlucky. For Julian’s sake, I have to put up with a daughter-in-law who has no manners and can’t even string a sentence together. If I’d known it would be like this, I’d have made Julian sign a much tougher prenup—or I’d have just died alongside his father!”
“Then go ahead,” I said.
“What?” Her brows snapped together.
I set Lucy gently down inside the playpen on the rug, turned around unhurriedly, and said, calmly:
“I said, go ahead and die.”
Her pupils widened, bit by bit. A few seconds later, her pale face twisted and trembled, and a shrill gasp tore out of her throat.
“Have you lost your mind? How dare you talk to me like that!”
I looked at her coldly.
“I said it. So what? Are you going to have your lawyer throw me out on the street?”
“You ungrateful parasite! Get out of this house!”
She charged at me, beside herself, hand raised to slap me across the face.
In the split second before it landed, I let myself fall sideways. My temple caught the carved walnut armrest of the sofa—hard enough to hurt, not hard enough to do any real damage. I’d measured that distance in my head more than once. Then I curled up on the cushions, clutching my head, and let out a muffled, pained moan.
“My head…”
That stopped her cold. She stared, then whirled on Doreen, who had just come out of the kitchen, and screamed:
“You saw that! This scheming, vicious woman is putting on a show to frame me!”
Doreen had gone pale. Her eyes darted, and she looked deeply torn.
“Mrs. Lowell… What I saw was you pushing her.”
My mother-in-law’s eyes went round. She couldn’t believe it.
“You… What did you say?!”
Doreen didn’t wait to be told twice. She called a cab, and fifteen minutes later we were sitting in the ER at Mass General.
I told the triage nurse the truth and nothing more: I’d hit my head, I was dizzy, and I felt sick to my stomach. After that armrest, none of it was even a lie. The bruise already turning purple at my temple did the rest. The doctor shone a light in my eyes, noted that a mild concussion couldn’t be ruled out, and told me to rest in bed and avoid stress.
Doreen held my bag the whole time and didn’t say a word. On the ride home, she called Julian herself.
By the time Julian rushed home, I was lying weakly in bed with an ice pack on my head.
Doreen sighed beside me. “I went to the ER with Claire. The doctor said on top of the bruising, there are signs of a mild concussion. She has to stay in bed and rest, and she can’t be put under any more emotional stress. Oh… I never imagined Mrs. Lowell would lose her temper like that, just because dinner was a little late…”
Julian’s face was gray with anger. He sat on the edge of the bed with his lips pressed tight and gently took my hand, saying nothing.
He did have feelings for me.
I’d never doubted that.
It was the reason I’d swallowed so much and held on for so long.
It’s just that his love used to be my safe harbor.
Now, his guilt was my lever.
Out in the hall, my mother-in-law was screaming hysterically at Melissa, who’d just come home:
“That little bitch provoked me on purpose! She fell down on her own! She’s framing me! She’s a vicious snake!”
Julian couldn’t take any more. He strode out and flung the door open. A moment later, his voice came back in, tight with rage.
“That’s enough, Mother! Claire would never make up a lie like that—she lets everyone walk all over her! You pick at her constantly and I’ve never said a word because you’re my mother, but hitting her crosses the line!”
Before the shouting could reach an even higher pitch, I pulled my noise-canceling headphones out from under my pillow, put them on, and started a thunderous classical symphony.
I was so absorbed that when Julian pushed the door open, red in the face, I blanked for a second.
“I’m sorry, Claire. This was my mother’s fault. I’m apologizing to you for her.”
His face was full of guilt and tenderness.
My eyes filled with tears. I looked helpless and frightened.
“Julian, can Lucy and I move out for a little while? I’m really scared… I can’t face her.”
He came over and pulled me into his arms, incredibly gently.
“She’s been so paranoid lately. Maybe it’s best you stay away from her for now. I’m just… sorry you have to go through this.”
I let myself sink against him. “And Lucy?”
His arm went stiff.
“Lucy stays here.” He said it gently, as if it were obvious. “Mom would never allow it. She’s her only grandchild. And you’ve got a concussion—you can’t look after a toddler on your own. Go rest for a few weeks. Doreen and Mom will take care of her, and you can come see her every day.”
Every day. Like a visitor.
I didn’t need a lawyer to tell me what that would look like later. If I walked out of this house without my daughter, I would never get her back out of it.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand. The screen lit up before he could turn it over.
Sponsors are freaking out about the lighting. Can you come by the gallery tonight? I need you, Jules.
Something shifted in his face. He was already halfway out the door in his head.
“We’ll talk about Lucy tomorrow,” he said, picking up the phone.
Tomorrow, he’d have talked it over with his mother. Tomorrow, that door would be shut.
In the crib by the window, Lucy woke up and started to wail. “Mama! Milk!”
His mother’s own rule. Exclusive breastfeeding until she turned two. No bottles, no formula, not in her house. And Lucy wouldn’t take anyone but me.
I looked at my crying daughter, then at the man edging toward the door with his phone in his hand.
I had one move left. And about ten seconds before he walked out.
