Chương 6
“What happened after?” Jordan asked.
I looked at the note.
“I wrote this.”
“Why?”
I stared at the sentence.
Because I wanted to leave.
Because I wanted to stay.
Because both things could be true.
“I don’t know.”
Ryan looked at Biscuit.
“He was the reason you stayed.”
My eyes moved toward him.
“What?”
“You said that.”
I frowned.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
Ryan’s voice softened.
“You said if you left, you would lose him too.”
The memory returned.
Not fully.
But enough.
I remembered sitting on the floor beside Biscuit’s crate.
I remembered his tiny paws pushing against my fingers.
I remembered thinking that if I walked away from my marriage, I would lose everything I had built.
The house.
The dog.
The person I used to be.
Maybe that was why I wrote the sentence.
Not because Biscuit was a reason to stay.
Because I was afraid I had nothing else.
The realization hurt in a way I did not expect.
Ryan watched my face.
“You really don’t remember.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
He leaned back.
The anger between us shifted.
Not gone.
Just changed.
“That note wasn’t about him.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“You weren’t saying Biscuit wasn’t important.”
Ryan swallowed.
“You were saying you were scared you were staying for the wrong reason.”
Nobody spoke.
Because that sounded like something I would have written.
Something I would have thought.
And the worst part was that I hated that Ryan knew me well enough to understand it.
Maya looked between us.
“Why did someone send this tonight?”
That brought the room back.
The question.
The envelope.
The timing.
Someone wanted me to see this.
But why?
Ryan reached for the photograph.
His fingers stopped before touching it.
“Maybe it was someone trying to prove the dog mattered to both of us.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” I said.
“No.”
He looked at the note.
“It doesn’t.”
Jordan suddenly sat up.
“Wait.”
Everyone looked at her.
She reached into her purse.
“I have something.”
Ryan’s face tightened.
“What?”
She pulled out her phone.
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
That sentence made my stomach drop.
Because important things always started that way.
I didn’t think it mattered.
She unlocked the screen.
“I got this message three weeks ago.”
Ryan stared.
“From who?”
Jordan hesitated.
Then she turned the phone around.
The number was unknown.
The message had only one sentence.
Ask him why Claire stopped fighting for Biscuit.
I looked at Ryan.
He looked at Jordan.
Then at the phone.
And for the first time that night, Ryan looked afraid.
Ryan’s fear looked different from his anger.
Anger was familiar.
Anger made him taller somehow.
It made him sharper.
Fear made him smaller.
For a few seconds, he looked like the man who used to sit on the kitchen floor at two in the morning because he could not figure out how to fix the leaking sink and refused to call a plumber because he wanted to prove he could do it himself.
The same stubbornness.
The same pride.
Just older.
“What is that?” he asked Jordan.
She lowered the phone.
“You know what it is.”
“I don’t.”
Her expression hardened slightly.
“That’s the problem, Ryan.”
The words were quiet.
But they hit.
I looked at the message again.
Ask him why Claire stopped fighting for Biscuit.
Not why Claire left.
Not why Claire signed divorce papers.
Why she stopped fighting.
That detail mattered.
Because whoever sent it knew something about me.
Something about the part of the story I had not told anyone.
“Who had your number?” Maya asked.
Jordan shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not possible.”
“It is.”
She scrolled.
“The number came through as unknown.”
“Did you respond?”
Jordan looked uncomfortable.
“Yes.”
Ryan closed his eyes.
“What did you say?”
“I asked who they were.”
“And?”
“They never answered.”
I watched him.
“You knew about this?”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
Too instantly.
But this time I did not assume it was a lie.
Something had changed.
The game Ryan thought he was playing had become something else.
Something he did not understand either.
A waiter approached our table again.
This time he stopped a few feet away.
“Everything okay?”
Nobody answered.
The waiter looked at the untouched plates.
Then at the papers.
Then at Biscuit.
“Actually,” Maya said, “we’re fine.”
She said it politely.
But everyone at the table knew we were not.
The waiter nodded and left.
Ryan looked at me.
“Claire.”
I hated that my name sounded different when he said it.
Not because it was softer.
Because it sounded like he needed something.
“What?”
“There’s something you need to know.”
My stomach tightened.
“About what?”
He looked at Jordan.
Then at Maya.
Then finally back at me.
“About the last four months.”
I held the leash closer.
“Go ahead.”
Ryan rubbed his thumb against the edge of the table.
A nervous habit.
I had not seen it in years.
“When you moved out, I thought you were coming back.”
The honesty caught me off guard.
“I know.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“I mean I really thought it.”
His voice lowered.
“I packed your things because I thought you were trying to scare me.”
I stared at him.
“You packed my things?”
He looked down.
“Some of them.”
The anger returned.
Not explosive.
A slow burn.
“You went through my stuff.”
“I was trying to understand what you were taking.”
“You had no right.”
“I know.”
The immediate answer stopped me.
Ryan rarely admitted things quickly.
“I know now.”
He looked at Biscuit.
“But then I was angry.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“I know.”
Again.
The repetition almost bothered me more than an argument.
Because it sounded like he had been saying those words to himself.
“When did you start seeing Jordan?”
Jordan looked away.
Ryan noticed.
“After.”
“How long after?”
He hesitated.
That hesitation answered before he did.
May you like
“Three weeks.”
I felt something cold move through me.
