I wanted to believe him.
So I nodded.
“Fine.”
He kissed my forehead.
“Thank you.”
I didn’t realize then that those two words would hurt me more than anything else he had said.
Because he wasn’t thanking me for understanding.
He was thanking me for staying quiet.
Two days before the birthday, Mark told me Claire had confirmed she was coming.
“She’ll probably arrive early,” he said.
“Why?”
“She wants to help.”
I looked at him.
“Help with what?”
“Everything.”
I almost laughed.
“It’s my house too.”
“I know.”
But he said it without looking at me.
On the afternoon of his birthday, I was in the kitchen arranging the food when the doorbell rang.
I assumed it was one of the caterers.
Instead, when I opened the door, Claire stood there.
She was carrying a large gift bag.
She looked beautiful.
Confident.
Comfortable.
Too comfortable.
“Happy birthday to Mark,” she said.
