Chapter 5 - THE DINNER I WASN'T INVITED TO
Three days later, my mother was discharged.
I took her to my apartment.
Not the new house.
My old apartment.
The one I had kept until the lease expired because I hadn't finished moving.
For once, my procrastination saved me.
Mom settled into the guest bedroom.
I made soup.
Checked her medication schedule.
And tried to pretend my life wasn't collapsing.
At 7:12 p.m., Naomi called.
Naomi was my oldest friend.
We had met in graduate school.
She worked in marketing and had a remarkable ability to discover information people thought was private.
“Clare,” she said, “are you sitting down?”
I closed my eyes.
“Please tell me this isn't another disaster.”
“It depends how you define disaster.”
She sent me a screenshot.
Vanessa's social media account.
A photograph of our dining room.
My dining room.
The oak table my father had refinished.
Candles.
Flowers.
Dinner for six.
The caption read:
First dinner in our beautiful new home. Feeling blessed.
I stared.
Our.
Beautiful.
New.
Home.
In the background, Adrien stood beside Vanessa.
His hand rested on her waist.
And beside them stood two people I recognized.
Adrien's parents.
My in-laws.
They were smiling.
***
I called my mother-in-law, Patricia Monroe.
She answered cheerfully.
“Clare, sweetheart.”
I almost laughed.
“Patricia.”
“How's Evelyn?”
“Recovering.”
“Oh, wonderful.”
I looked at the photograph.
“Did you have dinner at my house last night?”
Silence.
Then:
“Adrien mentioned you were staying with your mother.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Patricia sighed.
“Clare, I think everyone needs to calm down.”
My stomach dropped.
“Everyone?”
“Adrien's been under a lot of pressure.”
I stared at the wall.
“And that explains Vanessa living in my house?”
A pause.
Then Patricia said:
“Sometimes marriages change.”
I felt something inside me go very still.
“Did you know?”
She didn't answer.
I closed my eyes.
“How long?”
“Clare—”
“How long have you known?”
Patricia sighed again.
“Adrien said you two had been struggling.”
I laughed.
A terrible sound.
“So you welcomed his mistress into my home?”
“Don't be dramatic.”
I hung up.
Then blocked her number.
***
My mother found me sitting on the kitchen floor.
She lowered herself carefully into a chair.
“Clare.”
I looked up.
“His parents knew.”
Mom closed her eyes.
Then said:
“Come here.”
I knelt beside her.
She held me.
For the first time since the hospital video, I cried without trying to stop.
***
The next morning, Adrien sent me an email.
Subject: We Need to Discuss the House.
I opened it.
He wrote that our marriage had become “emotionally distant.”
He claimed we'd been living separately for months.
He said Vanessa was helping him through a difficult period.
Then he proposed that I transfer my interest in the property to him in exchange for a modest cash payment.
The amount was $25,000.
I stared.
My contribution to the down payment alone had exceeded $140,000.
He offered me twenty-five.
For the house.
For the marriage.
For eight years.
I forwarded the email to Rebecca.
Her reply arrived almost immediately.
Do not agree. We need to discuss this today.
Then another message appeared.
Clare, he may be counting on you being too exhausted to fight.
I looked toward my mother's bedroom.
She was sleeping peacefully.
For the first time in days, I felt something stronger than grief.
Resolve.
May you like
Adrien had mistaken my devotion to my mother for weakness.
He was about to discover how wrong he was.
