Chapter 5 - THE SECRET BEHIND THE RED DRESS
On Thursday morning, Marcus called.
"Claire, can we meet?"
His voice sounded strained.
"Is something wrong?"
"Something has been wrong for a while."
We met at a small diner near the lake.
Marcus arrived carrying a thin folder.
He didn't order coffee.
That frightened me more than anything else.
"I need to tell you about the partnership," he began.
"Ethan's consulting firm?"
He nodded.
"Three months ago, I discovered he'd been using company resources to support Vanessa's business."
I stared at him.
"What kind of resources?"
"Staff time, research, financial modeling. Some expenses were billed incorrectly."
"Was it illegal?"
"We're still reviewing everything. I won't make claims before the facts are established."
He paused.
"But it was a serious breach of our internal policies."
I looked at the folder.
"Does Ethan know you're telling me this?"
"No."
"Why are you?"
"Because your name appears in documents connected to the proposed financing. And because I don't want you blindsided."
I swallowed.
"Did you fire him?"
"He's on administrative leave while an independent review takes place."
The words seemed impossible.
Ethan had worked for years to build his career.
He was proud of his reputation.
He wore tailored suits, mentored junior consultants, and spoke constantly about professional ethics.
Now he was on leave because of Vanessa.
I thought about the red dress she'd worn to our anniversary.
The confidence.
The expensive champagne.
The way she'd behaved as though she had already won something.
"Did Vanessa know he was risking his job?"
Marcus gave me a sad look.
"I believe she knew he was under pressure."
I stared down at my hands.
"Why didn't he tell me?"
Marcus hesitated.
"Because you would have asked questions he didn't want to answer."
I looked up.
"And Vanessa wouldn't?"
"Vanessa needed him to believe he could solve everything."
I thought about that sentence all afternoon.
At five, I received a message from Ethan.
Can we have dinner tonight? Just us. No arguments.
I almost refused.
Then I decided I needed to hear what he had to say.
We met at a quiet Italian restaurant in Lincoln Park.
He was already seated when I arrived.
For the first time in years, he wasn't wearing Vanessa's watch.
I noticed immediately.
He noticed me noticing.
"I stopped wearing it."
I sat down.
"Why?"
"Because I know it bothered you."
I studied him.
"Did it suddenly start bothering you too?"
He looked away.
A waiter brought water.
We ordered food neither of us wanted.
Finally, Ethan reached across the table.
"I've made mistakes."
I kept my hands in my lap.
"Yes."
"I should have told you about the investment."
"Yes."
"And I should have defended you Friday."
My throat tightened.
"Yes."
He looked at me.
"I'm sorry."
For a moment, I wanted to believe those words could repair everything.
Then I asked the question that mattered.
"Why did you do it?"
He leaned back.
"Vanessa was desperate."
"Why was her desperation more important than my consent?"
"It wasn't."
"Then why did you act as though it was?"
He rubbed his forehead.
"Because I thought I could fix everything before you found out."
I stared at him.
"Do you hear yourself?"
He looked confused.
"You keep describing my ignorance as part of your plan."
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
I continued.
"You weren't protecting me. You were protecting yourself from having to hear me say no."
He looked down.
For the first time, he didn't argue.
I asked him about Marcus.
His jaw tightened.
"So he told you."
"You're on leave."
"It's temporary."
"Why?"
"An internal disagreement."
"About Vanessa?"
He exhaled.
"Yes."
I waited.
He finally admitted that he'd diverted company resources toward evaluating her business and approved expenses without following proper procedures.
"Did she ask you to do that?"
"She didn't understand the implications."
"That's not what I asked."
He looked toward the window.
"She asked for help."
"And you gave her whatever she wanted."
"Claire, she's been through a lot."
I almost smiled.
The same sentence.
The same defense.
Even now.
"Do you know what I've been through this week?"
He looked at me.
I continued before he could answer.
"I've had to call banks, attorneys, and fraud investigators. I've had to question whether my husband forged my signature. I've had to wonder whether our house is safe. And every conversation somehow becomes about Vanessa's difficult year."
His face crumpled.
"I never wanted to hurt you."
"But you were willing to risk hurting me."
He said nothing.
Then he whispered, "I thought you'd understand."
That sentence nearly broke my heart.
Because he had counted on my understanding for so long that he'd stopped considering whether he deserved it.
After dinner, we walked outside.
The night was cold.
Ethan stood beside his car.
"Can you come home?"
I shook my head.
"Not yet."
"Are you asking for a divorce?"
"I don't know."
He closed his eyes.
"Claire, I can't lose you."
I looked at him.
"Then you need to stop asking me to lose myself."
He nodded.
I turned to leave.
Then he said something unexpected.
"Vanessa kissed me."
I stopped walking.
The city seemed to go silent.
I turned around.
"When?"
He looked miserable.
"Three weeks ago."
My heart began pounding.
"Where?"
"At her apartment."
"Why were you at her apartment?"
"She was upset about the financing."
I laughed.
A short, broken sound.
"Of course she was."
"Claire, I pulled away."
"Did you tell me?"
"No."
"Did you tell her it could never happen again?"
He hesitated.
I felt sick.
"Ethan."
"I told her it was complicated."
I stared at him.
"Complicated?"
He stepped closer.
"I didn't want to hurt her."
And there it was.
The final answer.
Even after another woman kissed him, his greatest concern had been protecting her feelings.
I backed away.
"Good night, Ethan."
"Claire, please."
I kept walking.
He called after me.
"It didn't mean anything!"
I stopped at the corner.
Then I turned.
"It meant enough for you to keep it secret."
I walked away before he could respond.
When I reached Rachel's apartment, I finally cried.
Not because Vanessa had kissed him.
May you like
But because I understood that my husband had spent years leaving the door open.
And I had spent those same years convincing myself the draft was imaginary.
