Someone’s fork clinked against a plate.
Alice’s expression hardened instantly.
The words hurt, but I said nothing.
Instead, one thought settled quietly in my mind.
I’d had enough.
“I couldn’t help it!”
I turned around, walked back inside, climbed the stairs, and quietly closed the bedroom door.
I sat on the edge of the bed with both hands covering my mouth.
A gentle knock followed almost immediately.
Alice stepped inside and shut the door behind her.
“Nina,” she said softly. “I have to tell you something, and I’ve been sick over it for weeks.”
“Alice, please, I really can’t right now.”
“You can,” she replied. “You need to.”
I looked up.
She sat beside me and unlocked her phone.
“Carl has been texting me for weeks,” she said. “Photos. Asking me to meet him for coffee. Telling me his marriage is ‘basically over.’ I never once answered, but I saved every single message. I told Steve just now.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“What?”
“That’s why I’ve been coming around more and checking in. I wanted to tell you the right way, not in front of everyone. But I didn’t want to be the woman who blew up your life.”
She handed me the phone.
I kept scrolling.
Every strange moment from the past few months suddenly snapped into place.
The expensive cologne before family lunches.
Offering to drive Alice home again and again.
The phone always turned away from me.
His constant comparisons.
It had never really been about my body.
He had been creating a story.
A convenient story where he could leave, blame my postpartum body, and make me the villain for being exhausted.
I looked up.
“You told Steve?”
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