Chapter 3

The chair in the front row stayed empty.

I saw it the moment I walked onto the stage.

For half a second, the lights seemed too bright and the room too quiet. Then the first slide appeared behind me, and instinct took over.

I had spent two years working toward this project.

I knew every line, every material choice, every argument behind the design.

So I presented.

I answered questions from the committee. I defended the parts of the plan they challenged. When one of the investors pushed on cost, I explained exactly where we could adjust without sacrificing the public spaces that mattered most.

By the end, they approved the project.

Applause filled the room.

My team crowded around me backstage. Someone hugged me. Someone else pressed a glass of champagne into my hand before remembering I was working and laughingly took it back.

I laughed with them.

I should have felt only proud.

Instead, every few minutes my eyes went to the entrance.

Graham never appeared.

One of the consultants smiled at me.

"Your husband missed a good one. Is he still coming?"

In the past, I would have answered automatically.

Something urgent came up.

He got stuck at work.

He wanted to be here.

I had become very good at protecting him from other people's judgment.

That night, I said only,

"No."

The word felt strange in my mouth.

Clean.

My phone finally rang while I was gathering my notes.

Graham.

I stepped into the hallway.

"How did it go?"

"We got it."

"That's incredible, Claire. I knew you would."

Behind him, I heard the muffled sound of traffic.

"Are you still with Lydia?"

A pause.

"Yes. The tow truck took longer than expected, and she was pretty shaken up. I didn't want to leave her like that."

I closed my eyes.

"She wasn't hurt."

"I know, but you didn't see her. She was scared."

"And if I had been scared?"

Silence.

Not long.

Just long enough.

Then he said,

"Claire, please. Can we not do this tonight?"

I almost laughed.

Tonight.

The word he had used that morning.

Tonight is yours.

I looked through the open doors at the presentation hall, where my name still glowed on the screen.

"No," I said quietly.

"We don't have to do this tonight."

"We'll talk tomorrow."

"Fine."

He sounded relieved.

That hurt more than I expected.

When I got home, the house was dark.

I changed out of my dress and sat on the edge of our bed with my work bag at my feet.

The cream box was still inside.

I opened it.

Two tiny white socks lay beside the folded clinic report.

Five weeks pregnant.

For a long time, I pictured the version of the night I had planned.

Graham beside me after the presentation.

His face when I handed him the box.

Maybe his arms around me.

Maybe both of us believing we had been given a reason to try harder.

I folded the report again.

Placed it beneath the socks.

Closed the lid.

Then I put the box in the bottom drawer of my nightstand.

I did not throw it away.

I just stopped waiting to give it to him.