Chapter 4

Ruth's typing indicator stayed on.

Finally, she sent, "I didn't know. I'm sorry."

I told her it wasn't her fault.

A few minutes later, Nathan's cousin posted a video from the dinner in the family group chat.

The video opened on the projection screen.

I recognized the photo immediately.

It was from the first time he'd walked to the corner on his own. My arm was around his waist, and we were both smiling.

Now he was the only one in the frame.

My body had been cropped out. One hand remained at the edge of his jacket.

The camera swung toward Nathan.

He stood beside the table in his perfectly fitted dark gray suit, a backdrop reading A New Beginning behind him.

He thanked his mother first.

"She always believed I'd recover."

Diane dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a tissue.

He thanked the company for keeping opportunities open for him, thanked his brother for occasionally driving him to rehab, then turned to Leah beside him.

"And Leah. Thank you for always treating me like the person I was before, instead of a patient who needed looking after."

Some of the guests smiled and applauded.

Leah tilted her face up toward him and rested her hand on his wrist.

I remembered the afternoons she'd come to visit.

Before she arrived, Nathan would hurry me along as I washed his hair, helped him change, and moved the walker somewhere less noticeable.

Once, he'd soiled the bed. I was in the laundry room dealing with the sheets, listening to them talk about a new project at work in the living room.

He'd been in a good mood after Leah left.

He said someone had finally talked to him about normal things.

The video ended.

I sat without moving until the screen went dark.

Twenty minutes later, Nathan called.

I answered, and his very first words were an accusation.

"What did you say to Ruth?"

"The truth."

"She just asked why there wasn't a seat for you. Right in front of Mom."

I could hear cutlery clinking and people talking and laughing on his end.

He seemed to move into a hallway, lowering his voice.

"Did you have to tell her tonight?"

"She thought I'd chosen not to go."

"You could've explained tomorrow."

"Then why didn't you tell her you were the one who wouldn't let me come?"

"Just send her a message. Tell her we had a little disagreement so she'll stop asking."

"I'm not doing that."

"Claire."

He used the tone that used to make me drop whatever I was doing.

This time, I didn't do what he wanted.

Someone called his name in the background.

He answered them, then turned back to me. "We'll talk when I get home. Tidy up the living room. I might bring Mom and a few people back for a drink."

I felt exhausted. I didn't want to talk anymore.

"Did you hear me?"

"I heard you."

"There should still be some wine in the—"

I hung up.

What happened next was quieter than I'd expected.

I called Dad and told him I was coming home to see him.

"Of course," he said. "When?"

"Tomorrow."

He didn't ask about Nathan. He just said he'd pick me up at the station.

I booked my ticket, then a room at a nearby hotel for that night.

Before leaving, I checked the documents in my suitcase, packed everything I could take, then put my keys back in my bag.

My drawings, samples, and books were still in the studio. Those would have to wait.

I left a note on the dining table.

"You don't want me in your new life. I accept that."

In the hotel room, I'd just plugged my phone in to charge when a doorbell notification popped up.

It was the camera at our front door, still linked to my account.

On the screen, Nathan was unlocking the door. Diane stood behind him, and Leah was holding a half-empty bottle of wine.

The door opened. He took two steps inside.

"Claire, bring us a few wineglasses."

No answer.

He called again, then noticed the note on the dining table.

I closed the camera feed.

My phone rang almost immediately, his name on the screen.

I silenced it and turned it facedown, then reached for it to send Dad my arrival time for tomorrow.