Instead, she gave me the chance to tell the truth.
And I knew she already knew it.
“I got angry first,” I admitted quietly.
Claire’s eyes fluttered slightly.
She nodded once.
Just once.
Like some painful fear inside her had finally been confirmed.
Then she climbed into the car without another word.
I drove too fast through downtown Chicago while red lights and traffic felt designed specifically to torture me.
Claire sat rigid beside me, both hands wrapped protectively around her stomach while she breathed carefully through each wave of pain.
Then my phone buzzed inside my pocket.
I ignored it.
A few seconds later, it buzzed again.
Then again.
At the next red light, I finally pulled it out expecting work messages.
Instead, I saw my mother’s name.
Three texts.
Are you home yet?
Call me before you talk to Claire.
Please, Ethan. There are things you need to know.
My stomach dropped.
Claire turned slowly toward me.
“Who is it?”
“My mother.”
