Chapter 3
We agreed on a date. The same night Claire came to me, freshly showered, soft robe, damp hair, and kissed me first for the first time in four months, whispering that she wanted to try for a baby.
I want to be honest about how strange that moment was to live through — knowing precisely what she was attempting to accomplish, understanding that she intended to use whatever happened between us that night as cover for a pregnancy that had begun in a Denver hotel room with another woman's husband, and choosing, in that moment, not to react with the rage that was sitting directly beneath my calm.
"You're being quiet," she said.
"I'm just thinking."
"About us?"
"About tonight."
She smiled. She thought she had won. That was the saddest part.
"I want this to feel special, Daniel," she whispered. "No phones. No distractions. Just us."
"Of course."
Then the doorbell rang.
Her hand froze against my shirt. All the color disappeared from her face.
"Who is that?"
"One of the guests."
"Guests?"
"You said you wanted tonight to be special."
"Daniel," she said, sharper now, "who is at our door?"
The doorbell rang again. My phone buzzed. We're here.
Through the frosted glass beside the front door, two shadows stood under the porch light. One was tall. The other held a folder.
May you like
"Please don't open that door," she whispered.
I opened it.
