I hated how much that tiny reaction bothered me.
Still, I kept going.
Around the same time, Ryan started coming home later.
“Work’s crazy,” he told me.
I believed him. He had always been ambitious, and between the baby and my new routine, I barely questioned it.
But I started noticing things.
His phone spent most evenings face down on the table.
Once during dinner, it buzzed. Ryan glanced at the screen, immediately stood, and walked into the hallway.
“Work?” I asked when he returned.
“Yeah. Nothing important.”
I accepted the answer because I wanted to.
Meanwhile, my body slowly changed.
At that point, I still believed that if I became the woman Ryan wanted again, our marriage would somehow return to normal.
My walks grew longer. Carrying my daughter upstairs no longer left me breathless. One morning, I caught my reflection in a shop window as I pushed the stroller.
I stopped.
For the first time in months, I liked the woman looking back at me.
Strangely, Ryan wasn’t the first person I wanted to tell.
By the time his company party arrived, I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to dress for something besides groceries or a pediatrician appointment.
I chose a fitted dark green dress I’d bought a few weeks earlier—not because Ryan liked the color or because it made me look thinner.
Because I liked it.
Ryan stared when I came downstairs.
“Wow.”
I smiled. “Good wow?”
“Definitely.”
At the party, reactions came almost immediately.
One of his coworkers blinked at me, then laughed.
“Ryan, your wife looks incredible!”
Ryan’s face lit up.
“I know, right?”
Something about the way he said it irritated me.
As if he’d trained me for this.
As if my body had been a project he’d supervised.
He kept one hand around my waist most of the evening and introduced me with an enthusiasm I hadn’t seen in months.
“This is Claire.”
Every time someone complimented me, his grip tightened slightly.
I remembered the black dress.
The bathroom floor.
The way I’d covered my mouth so he wouldn’t hear me crying.
Now he looked at me as if I’d finally become worth showing off again.
While Ryan talked to someone from accounting, I noticed a woman near the bar watching him.
Not staring exactly.
Just watching.
When our eyes met, she quickly looked away and took a sip of her drink.
I thought nothing of it.
Not then.
On the drive home, Ryan rested a hand on my knee and grinned.
“See? I knew you still had it in you.”
I looked out the window.
“Mm-hm.”
A few days later, he came home carrying flowers.
Actual flowers.
I couldn’t remember the last time he’d brought me any.
He handed them over with a smile.
“You look like the woman I married again.”
I looked at the bouquet, then back at him and smiled.
“Then let me plan something special for us.”
His expression instantly brightened.
He thought I meant romance.
Maybe a few months earlier, I would have.
But by then, I’d started paying much closer attention.
Three days later, a message arrived from a number I didn’t recognize.
“I think we need to talk about Ryan.”
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
My first thought was that it involved work, perhaps someone from his office who’d gotten my number at the party.
I replied.
“Who is this?”
The answer came almost immediately.
