“Then explain.”
He looked around the restaurant.
“Not here.”
“No. Here is perfect.”
Daniel lowered his voice.
“She’s someone from work.”
I laughed once.
“A coworker who thinks you’re single?”
His expression told me everything.
Finally, he whispered, “Her name is Claire.”
Daniel had met Claire six months earlier through a company project.
At first, according to him, they had only talked.
Then she became interested.
And instead of telling her that he was happily married, Daniel told her our marriage was falling apart.
Eventually, the lie grew.
He told Claire we were separated.
That we lived together only because selling the house was complicated.
That we barely spoke.
That divorce papers were coming.
None of it was true.
Three days before our vacation, Daniel told her he was taking a trip alone to “clear his head.”
That was why I couldn’t appear in pictures.
That was why he avoided selfies.
That was why seeing Claire’s friend—or perhaps Claire herself, I still wasn’t sure—near the hotel lobby had terrified him.
“You made me invisible,” I whispered.
Daniel reached across the table.
“I made a terrible mistake.”
I pulled my hand away.
His phone buzzed again.
This time a message appeared.
You told me she wasn’t here.
Daniel looked sick.
Then another.
You told me you were separated.
I almost felt sorry for Claire.
Almost.
Daniel suddenly began deleting messages.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to fix this.”
I shook my head.
“You still think this is about fixing things with her.”
His hands stopped.
And for the first time that night, Daniel seemed to understand.
“Emma, please.”
I stood.
“I’m going back to the room.”
He followed me.
“Please don’t do anything tonight. We’ll talk. I’ll tell you everything.”
“You already did.”
“No, I mean—we can fix us.”
