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.
I looked directly at him and said quietly, so only he could hear, “Tell me right now… why do both of you have fertility clinic records with your names on them?”
His lips parted.
The girl let out a broken gasp.
And Ethan said, “Claire, not here.”
