Chapter 4 - The Glass on the Floor
The room was full of pastel balloons and people who had only heard Mark’s version.
Emily sat beside a mountain of gifts.
She looked younger than I expected, but not foolish. Just happy.
That made everything worse.
“Claire!” Mark said. “You actually came!”
Several guests turned.
Emily’s smile faltered.
“I didn’t realize—”
“Congratulations,” I said.
Before she could answer, Mark lifted his glass.
“Everyone, a quick toast.”
My stomach dropped.
He spoke about fatherhood. Dreams. Finally getting what he had always wanted.
Then his eyes found mine.
“I wasted seven years waiting for someone who couldn’t make that dream happen.”
A few people laughed nervously.
Emily’s hand stopped moving over her belly.
“But sometimes you have to leave the wrong woman to find the right one.”
I set down my drink.
“To Emily,” he finished. “The woman who finally made me a father.”
I turned toward the door.
Then I heard my name.
Not Claire.
“Mommy!”
The boys burst through the doorway, Rachel a few steps behind them.
Owen had spilled juice down his shirt at lunch. Their spare clothes were in the bag I had taken inside.
Rachel had texted me twice.
I hadn’t checked my phone.
Luke reached me first.
Owen grabbed my leg.
I crouched, pulling them close.
Across the room, glass shattered.
Diane stood beside the gift table, staring.
Her champagne spread across the floor.
“Claire,” she whispered.
Mark followed her gaze.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Diane pressed her fingers to her mouth.
“They look exactly like you did.”
She was looking at Mark.
He gave a short, startled laugh.
“Mom.”
“Your eyes. Your dimples.”
“Lots of kids have dark eyes.”
Luke turned toward the sound.
That little crease appeared between his eyebrows.
Mark’s face changed.
I watched him count backward.
“How old are they?”
“Three.”
The room became terribly still.
Emily stood slowly.
“Mark?”
He didn’t look at her.
“How old, exactly?”
“Not here.”
“Answer me.”
Owen pressed his face into my shoulder.
I stood, keeping a hand on each boy.
“Lower your voice.”
Diane took one step toward us.
“Are these my grandchildren?”
Rachel moved beside me.
Mark’s eyes stayed fixed on mine.
“Claire.”
There it was.
The question we should have faced years earlier, standing between balloons and broken glass.
“Yes,” I said quietly. “They’re your sons.”
Emily’s hand tightened around the back of her chair.
May you like
Then Mark said the one thing guaranteed to make the room turn against me.
“You kept my children from me?”
