Chương 5
“Don’t rewrite this,” Daniel said.
“I’m not.”
“You kissed me back.”
“I never said I didn’t.”
“You’re acting like I forced something on you.”
“I’m acting like you lied to both of us.”
He looked at me as if I might rescue him from the distinction.
I did not.
Mia folded her arms over her stomach.
“You came over because Leo had finally fallen asleep after one of those weeks where everything had been awful.”
Daniel’s mouth tightened.
“Mia.”
“You sat at my kitchen counter and told me you felt invisible at home.”
The words struck with embarrassing accuracy because invisibility was what I had spent most of the past year feeling.
Daniel looked away.
Mia continued.
“You said Claire was always tired, always angry, always focused on the baby.”
“I was three weeks postpartum,” I said.
“I know.”
Mia’s voice cracked on the last word.
“I know that now in a way I apparently didn’t let myself know then.”
Daniel shook his head.
“You’re making it sound calculated.”
“It wasn’t calculated.”
She looked at him.
“That’s what makes it worse.”
I could hear my own pulse in my ears.
“What happened?”
Mia swallowed.
“He told me he didn’t think you loved him anymore.”
Daniel’s eyes closed.
There was no dramatic denial this time.
That hurt in a quieter place.
I looked down at Noah’s sleeping face.
His lashes made faint shadows under his eyes.
I had spent that October measuring my days in feedings, pumping sessions, pain medication, and whether I could shower before noon.
Somewhere inside those same days, Daniel had apparently been telling another woman that my exhaustion meant I had stopped loving him.
“Did you believe him?” I asked.
Mia stared at the floor.
“I wanted to.”
Daniel turned toward her.
“That’s enough.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“It happened once.”
“Because I stopped it.”
He laughed without humor.
“That’s not what happened.”
Mia looked back at me.
“He kissed me.”
Daniel’s voice sharpened.
“And you kissed me back.”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“I did.”
The admission sat there without decoration.
“I kissed him back for maybe five seconds, maybe ten, and then I told him to go home.”
Daniel’s jaw flexed.
“You cried.”
“Because I was lonely.”
“You said you loved me.”
Mia flinched.
I looked at her.
She closed her eyes for a moment.
“I said I thought I might.”
The floor seemed to move under me again.
Daniel rubbed a hand over his mouth.
“You see?”
I turned toward him.
“What exactly am I supposed to see?”
“That it wasn’t one-sided.”
“You seem very invested in proving that.”
“Because she’s making me sound like some predator.”
“No,” Mia said.
“You’re doing a perfectly good job of sounding like yourself.”
He stared at her.
I almost smiled.
It was not because anything was funny.
Sometimes contempt wears the same face as amusement.
“What happened after?” I asked.
Mia answered first.
“He left.”
“And then?”
“He texted me the next morning.”
Daniel said, “To apologize.”
Mia looked at him.
“You asked if I regretted it.”
He did not answer.
I looked at Daniel.
“Did you?”
His shoulders lowered.
“Yes.”
The word came so quietly I almost missed it.
“What did she say?”
Mia looked ashamed now.
“I said I didn’t know.”
Something inside me twisted, but it was no longer the clean pain of betrayal.
It was messier.
Part of me wanted Mia to be monstrous because monsters make decisions simple.
Instead, she looked like a tired woman who had wanted to be chosen by someone already committed elsewhere.
That did not absolve her.
It only made hatred less efficient.
“How long did the messages continue?” I asked.
Daniel said, “Not long.”
Mia said, “Until January.”
I looked at him.
His face hardened.
“Not like that.”
“What does that mean?”
“We talked.”
“You always talked.”
“Yes.”
“Did you talk about what happened?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did you talk about me?”
His silence answered.
Mia shifted her weight.
“Claire.”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“You get to tell me facts.”
Her face tightened.
“You don’t get to comfort me.”
She nodded once.
“That’s fair.”
Daniel sat down heavily.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
The television in the hallway was playing some cartoon with exaggerated animal voices.
Leo laughed once, then coughed.
Mia’s head turned automatically toward the sound.
The movement was pure motherhood and made everything worse.
“When did the money come into this?” I asked.
Mia looked back at me.
“December.”
Daniel rubbed both palms over his thighs.
“I told you.”
“You told me you invested.”
“I did.”
Mia’s expression changed.
“What?”
Daniel looked at her.
She stared.
“You told me it was a loan.”
He frowned.
“No, I told you I wanted equity.”
“No.”
“You signed the agreement.”
“I signed a convertible note.”
Daniel’s face went blank for half a second.
It was enough.
Mia saw it too.
“What did you do?”
He stood.
“Nothing.”
“You just made that face.”
“What face?”
“The one you make when someone notices something you hoped they wouldn’t.”
Daniel gave a short laugh.
“Oh, come on.”
Mia reached into her sweater pocket and pulled out her phone.
“What percentage do you own?”
“Mia.”
“What percentage?”
“It depends on the conversion.”
“The note hasn’t converted.”
He said nothing.
Mia stared at him, then started tapping quickly at her screen.
I watched her open what looked like a document app.
Her thumb moved twice.
Then she froze.
“What?”
Daniel stepped toward her.
She backed away.
“Don’t.”
“What are you looking at?”
“The copy you sent me.”
“Mia.”
Her breathing changed.
She scrolled.
I could see panic rising in a way that had nothing to do with Leo now.
“What is it?” I asked.
She looked at me.
“There’s a side letter.”
Daniel swore under his breath.
Mia turned the phone toward herself again.
“I never signed this.”
“You didn’t need to.”
“What do you mean I didn’t need to?”
“It modifies my conversion rights.”
“Into what?”
He said nothing.
May you like
Mia’s voice rose.
“Into what, Daniel?”
