Clara
The question is suspended between us.
"Are you going back to Ethan?"
My hand stops on the plate, I don't raise my voice. I don't smile, I don't breathe faster.
I just look at her.
Vanessa holds my gaze with the firmness of someone who believes she has the right to an answer.
But something inside me is activated, it's not jealousy, it's not anger. It is memory.
I remember years ago, sitting at a similar table, feeling that constant discomfort when she appeared too close to my husband. When she entered his office without knocking. When she called him at any time. When her name slipped into conversations that didn't include me.
I remember what it feels like to be the woman who asks.
And today, for the first time, I am not that woman. Vanessa clears her throat when she sees tha
