String lights hung above beautifully decorated tables prepared for a celebration that was already dead.
Ethan followed me outside.
“Claire, please.”
He reached for my arm.
I pulled away instantly.
“Don’t touch me.”
His expression cracked.
Tears filled his eyes.
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
For one horrible second, I remembered him holding me in the hospital after my miscarriage, promising we would survive the pain together.
How disgusting memories become after the truth rewrites them.
“You used my medical records,” I whispered. “You used my grief.”
He immediately started defending himself.
He claimed he only wanted to “protect the future” and avoid complications if my depression ever returned.
That sentence disgusted me more than the affair itself.
Because it showed me exactly who he really was.
Some people will turn your deepest wound into a weapon if it benefits them.
Vanessa eventually stepped outside carrying the baby.
Her face looked swollen from crying.
But when she spoke, she forced herself to meet my eyes.
“I loved him, Claire.”
My throat tightened painfully.
Of course she did.
And somehow that made everything even uglier.
They didn’t look like monsters.
They looked like cowards willing to build happiness on top of someone who trusted them completely.
I stared at her for a long moment.
“Then you should’ve had the courage to leave before helping him bury me in paperwork.”
The baby stirred softly against her shoulder.
