Chapter Three

Chapter Three

The hallway was already empty.

I crouched on the floor, still miserable.

They didn't let me leave until the next morning, after the IV bag ran dry.

As expected, Lucas hadn't come home all night.

I pulled out my suitcase and started packing.

That was when Linda from HR called.

"Claire, did you make a mistake? Why did you email me a resignation letter?"

I froze.

"Your personnel file's already been transferred to the Miami office. I don't have the authority to process a resignation for you, so I sent it back."

"Though, if you did leave, there'd be plenty of people lining up to squeeze into a core position like yours."

My nails dug deep into my palms.

There in my inbox, the returned resignation letter glowed on the screen.

The reason was short and simple:

I am getting married soon and have decided to focus on my family. I am no longer able to meet the demands of this position.

Submitted along with it was a letter of recommendation—recommending that Serena be promoted to fill my position.

Every line of it was in Lucas's voice. I knew the way he phrased things.

On the other end of the line, Linda was still talking.

"When your manager asked you to head up Miami, you said no. What made you change your mind all of a sudden?"

I stared at the black text on the screen. My voice was so flat it didn't carry a trace of feeling.

"Nothing. I just... figured some things out."

The front door opened.

Lucas stood in the doorway in a suit, holding a bouquet.

A crowd of friends appeared behind him, cheering.

Lucas pulled out a gorgeous diamond ring and went down on one knee, his eyes eager.

"Claire, marry me. Let me take care of you."

"Didn't you always want to honeymoon in Tahiti? I've already looked at flights."

"We'll leave right after the wedding, okay?"

All around us, the chanting swelled: "Say yes! Say yes!"

The room was roaring, and every eye was on me.

Friends, coworkers, a man on one knee, flowers...

The proposal I'd waited so long for. The old me would have been thrilled. Moved to tears.

The me standing there now felt nothing.

He'd logged into my email and quit my job for me, for Serena's sake.

And then he'd put on this half-hearted proposal to tell me: Let me take care of you.

My phone lit up with a message from Serena.

Lucas says he’ll take responsibility for the baby. The marriage license and your job go to me.

To make up for it, you get the wedding. The ceremony, all of it.

Claire, I suffered so much in my last marriage, and I walked away with nothing. You feel for me, don’t you?

Under it, a short video: Lucas, eyes red, kissing her like a drowning man. I didn’t watch it to the end.

I looked down at the man on one knee in front of me.

Then I turned my laptop around on the coffee table, so the screen faced the room, and read the resignation letter out loud.

“I am getting married soon and have decided to focus on my family. I am no longer able to meet the demands of this position.”

The chanting stopped.

“This was sent from my account at 11:42 last night,” I said. “Along with a letter recommending Serena for my job. I was in the ER at 11:42, Lucas. Hooked up to an IV. So who sent it?”

Every head in the room turned to him.

Lucas’s face went stiff. “Claire, not here—”

“Here.” My voice didn’t shake. “You had my password. You wrote that I’m giving up my career to focus on my family. And then you knelt down and said let me take care of you.”

“So she gets the marriage license and my job. And I get a ring and a party. Is that the deal?”

Someone behind him whispered, Jesus. One of my coworkers quietly lowered her phone.

Lucas opened his mouth.

At that exact moment, his phone buzzed in his hand. Serena had just posted on Instagram: a photo of herself outside an OB-GYN clinic, one hand on her stomach. Scared. Alone. Waiting.

He stared at it, and his eyes went red.

Before I could say another word, he shot to his feet, left everyone standing there, and ran out.

So hard, so fast, so desperate.

The room was silent.

I didn’t chase him. I didn’t cry.

I sat down on the arm of the couch and went back to my laptop.

I forwarded the resignation letter, the recommendation letter, and the account’s login history to my personal email. I took screenshots of every page. Then I wrote to Linda in HR:

The resignation sent from my account last night was not written or sent by me. Please preserve the original email and the recommendation attached to it. Do not process either one.

Her reply came in under a minute.

Saved. Both of them. And Claire—Miami still needs your written confirmation by Friday. Don’t let anyone make that decision for you.