“I don’t think I am.”
“She was my wife for twelve years. Of course I’m going to remember things about her.”
I swallowed.
“I understand remembering her. I don’t understand constantly comparing me to her.”
Mark came closer and kissed my forehead.
“Claire is part of my past. You’re my future.”
Those words calmed me.
At least for a while.
I wanted to believe him.
I needed to believe him.
Because I was carrying his child, and I didn’t want to enter motherhood already questioning my marriage.
But then his birthday approached.
One evening, we were sitting at the kitchen table discussing the guest list.
I had written down the names of his parents, his brother, a few close friends, and some coworkers.
Mark looked at the list.
Then he said casually,
“I think I’m going to invite Claire.”
My pen stopped moving.
“Claire?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t even hesitate.
“She’s still family. I want her there.”
