Chapter 7
Chapter 7:
My thumb hovers over the screen. Accept. Decline. Such simple buttons for such a loaded choice.
In the end, curiosity wins. I’ve always been too curious for my own good—it’s how I ended up married at twenty-five, how I ended up pregnant at twenty-seven, how I ended up here, accepting a friend request from my husband’s mistress. I want to see what she wants. I want to understand the woman who’s dismantling my life.
The moment I accept, my phone buzzes: new message.
It’s a photo. Of course it’s a photo.
I don’t need to open it. I already know what I’ll see. But my fingers move anyway, tapping the image, expanding it to fill the screen—and there they are. Nathan and Meredith, faces bright with joy, hands covered in wet clay, clearly at some pottery class. Nathan has a smear of mud on his cheek. He’s laughing—really laughing, with his whole face, the way he used to laugh with me.
The red marks from her allergic reaction are barely visible. She recovered quickly, it seems. Or maybe she was never that sick to begin with.
I study his expression. I can’t remember the last time I saw him look like this. Since the pregnancy, his face has been a mask of obligation—tight smiles that never reach his eyes, patience that always feels performed. “Being a father is a big responsibility,” he told me once, like he was reciting from a manual. “I need to focus on work. I can’t let this affect my career p>
This. Not “the baby.” Not “our child.” This. Like an inconvenience to be managed.
𝙍𝙖𝙬 𝙛𝙞𝙡𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙡 𝙩𝙤: g𝖺𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀⨳ⅽ𝗈𝗺
Meanwhile, he’s taking pottery classes with Meredith.
I screenshot the image. Then the chat history. All of it, saved to a folder I didn’t know I was creating until just now. Evidence. The word surfaces unbidden, and I realize I’m already thinking like someone preparing for war.
I type a message to Nathan: When are you coming home? I have prenatal exams tomorrow.
No response. Of course not. He’s busy.
The afternoon drags. I force myself to eat some fruit—grapes, mostly, because they’re one of the few things that don’t make me gag. The baby seems to like grapes. The baby seems to like anything that isn’t spicy, acidic, or strongly flavored. The baby has opinions, and I find myself grateful for them. At least someone in this household is communicating clearly.
Around dusk, I check Meredith’s social media. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. But the masochistic impulse is stronger than reason.
Her latest post glows on my screen: a photo of two silhouettes on a beach, watching the sunset, intimately close. The caption reads: Going in circles, only you keep waiting in the same place.
Marsten Bay. The city Nathan insisted we move to. “I love the ocean,” he’d said. “I spent four years of college here. It feels like home.” I thought it was nostalgia. I thought he missed the campus, the friends, the freedom of those years.
I understand now. He missed her.
The beach in the photo—I recognize it. It’s the same beach where he proposed to me, two years ago. The same spot where he knelt in the sand and promised me forever.
My phone is in my hand before I realize I’ve made a decision. I scroll through Nathan’s college contacts until I find the name I’m looking for.
Trevor picks up on the third ring.
“Vivian?” He sounds confused. Wary. “Is everything okay p>
“We need to talk. Can you meet me p>
A long pause. “The coffee shop on Third Street. Give me thirty minutes p>