I nearly dropped my suitcase right there in Terminal B. The wheels of my carry-on caught on a crack in the tile, jolting my grip, but that wasn’t what made my heart stop. It was what I saw ten feet ahead.
My husband Ethan, standing by the departure board with his arm draped around a young blonde woman’s waist like it was exactly where it belonged. Like she belonged to him. For a moment, everything blurred.
The announcements overhead, a baby crying somewhere behind me, the line at the coffee stand, none of it felt real anymore. All I could focus on was Ethan’s hand resting possessively on her hip and the way she leaned into him like this wasn’t new. I should have screamed.
I should have hurled my bag at him. Instead, something colder took over. I walked straight toward them with a smile so steady it unnerved even me.
When Ethan looked up and saw me, all the color drained from his face. The girl turned too, blinking at me with wide blue eyes, confused for a split second, until I stopped in front of them and said sweetly, “What a surprise. Big brother, aren’t you going to introduce me?”
Her face went completely white.
Ethan’s hand dropped from her waist so fast it was almost ridiculous. “Claire,” he said, his voice tight, “what are you doing here?”
I tilted my head slightly. “Flying to Chicago.
Same as you, apparently. Although I didn’t realize this was a family trip.”
The young woman took a shaky step back. “Wait,” she whispered, looking between him and me.
“You said—”
“I know what he said,” I interrupted, still smiling. “That I was his sister? His unstable ex?
A roommate from years ago? Go ahead, Ethan. I’d love to hear which version you gave her.”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
That was when I noticed the envelope in his hand. Thick. Cream-colored.
The edge of a medical logo peeked out from the top. And then I saw a matching envelope in her purse. My stomach dropped.
This wasn’t just an affair. I stared at both envelopes, then at the panic on Ethan’s face, and suddenly every lie from the past two years snapped into place. The late-night business trips.
The hushed phone calls. The way he shut down every conversation about starting a family. The way he always had a reason why now wasn’t the right time, why we should wait another year, why I needed to be patient.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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