That answered another question for me.
“People who need it,” I said.
His jaw tightened.
“Don’t turn this into something ugly.”
I looked at him for a long moment.
“You put on your wedding ring, kissed me on a beach, walked into a hidden chapel, held my sister’s hands in front of a minister, and told her I couldn’t stop you.
Natalie wore my dead mother’s earrings while she did it.
You don’t get to warn me about ugly.”
He sat down again.
For the first time since I had known him, Ethan seemed to understand that his calm voice no longer controlled the room.
My phone buzzed with a reply from the attorney’s office.
They could speak with me that morning.
I didn’t show Ethan the message.
Instead I asked one question.
“How long?”
He looked away.
That was answer enough to tell me it had not begun yesterday.
“How long, Ethan?”
“It’s complicated.”
“No.
Time is usually measured with numbers.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“Months.”
I felt the word land, but I refused to give him the reaction he seemed to expect.
Months meant family dinners.
Birthdays.
Messages from Natalie asking me how I was doing.
Nights Ethan had said he was tired.
Calls he had taken in another room.
Every small moment my instincts had noticed and my loyalty had explained away.
I thought of Natalie crying over Mom’s note.
Mom knew you were the strong one.
Had she already wanted what was mine then? Or had that come later?
I decided I did not need the answer yet.
Ethan tried again.
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“After the trip.”
I laughed once.
It came out colder than I intended.
“After our anniversary trip?”
He flinched.
I turned away and called the attorney from the balcony.
I kept the conversation brief.
I explained that I had discovered my husband participating in a wedding-like ceremony with my sister while still married to me, that I had recorded part of it, and that I wanted to know how to protect myself before making any major decision.
The advice was simple: preserve evidence, do not destroy or alter anything, document what I knew, avoid making impulsive financial moves, and schedule a full consultation once I was home.
That was enough.
I came back inside.
Ethan was dressing.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
He hesitated.
The answer was written all over him.
Natalie.
“Go,” I said.
He stared at me.
“Claire—”
