My chest tightened. I remembered nights in dorm rooms, whispering secrets in the dark, promising each other forever. That girl was gone. This woman was a stranger.
Claire leaned in, brushing a kiss against Matthew’s cheek—too familiar, too lingering. No one seemed to notice. Or perhaps they chose not to.
“Come,” she said brightly. “I’ve saved you both seats.”
The brunch unfolded like theater, every line rehearsed, every spotlight on Claire. She sparkled at the center of every conversation, and Matthew—my husband—watched her as if she were the sun.
I sat beside him in silence, shredding the edge of my napkin. Their hands brushed as they reached for the same platter, their eyes meeting with unspoken ease.
I was invisible. Just as Matthew had said.
At one point, Claire leaned toward me, her voice coated in honey. “Evelyn, darling, you look so tired. Are you sleeping well?”
A few heads turned, waiting. Heat crawled up my neck. “I… I’m fine.”
She smiled, the kind that wasn’t meant for me at all, and laid her hand briefly over Matthew’s. “Marriage can be exhausting, can’t it? But don’t worry. You have me.”
The table chuckled, low and complicit, as if in on the joke.