“Yes.”
“You told me not to embarrass you.”
“Yes.”
“You told Peter I may not be fit to lead my own account.”
“I was thinking ahead.”
“For yourself.”
He slammed one palm against the table.
“Stop turning everything into betrayal.”
People looked over.
I remained calm.
“You’re right.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“I’m not going to argue.”
“Good.”
“I’m ending it.”
His face changed.
“Claire.”
“I won’t marry you.”
“You’re carrying my child.”
“That does not obligate me to marry you.”
“You love me.”
“I did.”
His eyes hardened.
“Did?”
I swallowed.
“I don’t know anymore.”
PART 7
For the first time, Ethan looked afraid.
Not angry.
Afraid.
He leaned forward.
“Is there someone else?”
I stared at him.
“That’s your question?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Then this makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
“Not to me.”
“That is part of the problem.”
He laughed bitterly.
“You’ve been waiting for an excuse.”
“No.”
“I’ve been ignoring reasons.”
Silence.
Then he asked.
“Is this about Maya?”
“Partly.”
He looked away.
“There is nothing happening with Maya.”
“Then why are you treating her differently?”
“I’m mentoring her.”
“Do you brush every intern’s hair from their face?”
He did not answer.
“Do you give every intern your clothes?”
“Claire.”
“Do you add every intern to dinners?”
“She’s talented.”
“So am I.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
That hurt more.
Because I did know.
He saw Maya as someone to protect.
Someone to encourage.
Someone whose discomfort mattered.
He saw me as someone who should endure.
Because I always had.
I leaned back.
“When did you stop liking me?”
His expression changed.
“What?”
“Not loving.”
“Liking.”
“When did being around me become something you tolerated?”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
“You criticize everything I do.”
“You question my work.”
“You complain that pregnancy is inconvenient.”
“You speak over me.”
“And when I need something, you call it drama.”
“That is not liking someone.”
He stared at me.
Then whispered.
“I don’t know.”
That was the most honest thing he had said all day.
PART 8
We returned home two days later.
Separately.
I went to my sister Rachel’s apartment.
Ethan went to our townhouse.
My mother cried when I told her.
My sister did not.
She said.
“Finally.”
I stared.
“What?”
Rachel handed me tea.
“I’m sorry.”
“That sounded harsh.”
“No.”
“Explain.”
She sat across from me.
“I’ve watched you become smaller for five years.”
I frowned.
“That’s dramatic.”
“Is it?”
She pointed toward my phone.
“How many times have you left dinner early because Ethan needed something?”
I said nothing.
“How many holidays did you move because of his schedule?”
Silence.
“How many times did you apologize because he forgot something?”
I looked down.
Rachel continued.
“You used to argue.”
“You used to laugh loudly.”
“You used to say no.”
“You still do at work.”
“But not with him.”
I felt tears rise.
“I thought compromise was normal.”
“It is.”
“But compromise goes both ways.”
