Chapter 2

Ten minutes before I was due onstage, Graham was exactly where he had promised to be.

Front row. Center seat.

When I peeked through the narrow gap in the backstage curtain, I found him immediately. He had taken off his suit jacket and draped it over the chair beside him. His attention was on the stage.

For the first time in months, I felt my shoulders loosen.

Then his phone rang.

I watched him glance at the screen.

Even from backstage, I knew.

Lydia.

He stood before the call was over.

By the time I reached the side corridor, he already had his jacket on.

"What happened?"

"Lydia had an accident."

My stomach dropped.

"Is she hurt?"

"No. She's fine."

I stared at him.

He continued quickly, as if speed could make the rest sound reasonable.

"Someone clipped her car. The police are there, and she already called insurance, but she's shaken up."

"The police are there?"

"Yes."

"And she isn't hurt."

"No."

A stage coordinator passed us and reminded me I had eight minutes.

Graham glanced toward the lobby.

I understood before he said it.

"You're leaving."

"She's alone, Claire."

"So am I."

"You have your entire team here."

"I have my team."

I lowered my voice.

"I asked for my husband."

His jaw tightened.

"This isn't the time."

"No, apparently it never is."

He exhaled.

"I'll make sure she's okay and come straight back."

"My presentation will be over."

"I'll try."

That word did something to me.

Try.

I had spent months accepting his attempts as if they were the same thing as showing up.

I looked at him and forced myself to stay calm.

"This isn't two emergencies, Graham. I'm not asking you to choose between two people who need an ambulance."

"Claire--"

"This is one of the most important nights of my career. Lydia's car has a scratch. She has police. She has insurance. She is physically fine."

"She's scared."

"And that makes this less important?"

"That's not what I said."

"Then stay."

The words landed between us.

For once, there was no room to pretend I had only hinted at what I needed.

I had asked directly.

Stay.

Graham's hand went to his pocket. His car keys were already in his fist.

"Don't make me choose."

I looked at the keys.

Then at him.

Something inside me went very still.

He always said that as if I were creating the choice by naming it. As if the problem began when I asked him to see what he was already doing.

Another reminder came from backstage.

Five minutes.

Graham touched my arm.

"I'll be back as soon as I can."

This time, I didn't ask again.

I didn't tell him how much the night meant.

I didn't remind him of his promise.

I stepped away from his hand.

"Go."

He hesitated, almost as if my permission unsettled him more than my anger would have.

Then he left.

I stood in the corridor and listened until the sound of his footsteps disappeared.

For the first time, I wasn't competing with Lydia.

I had simply stopped trying to win.