Two months later, one gray morning, I walked down the stairs — and froze.
There, in the living room, stood Claire… wrapped in another man’s arms. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and confident. And Claire — smiling, unashamed — turned her head toward me and spoke as if nothing were wrong.
“Oh, perfect timing, Margaret,” she said smoothly, slipping her hand into the man’s. “This is Daniel… my partner.”
My pulse thudded in my ears. “Claire… it’s far too soon,” I murmured, unable to believe what I was seeing.
“Too soon?” Claire laughed, crossing her arms. “Please. You’re so old-fashioned. Daniel and I have decided it’s time for a change around here. This house feels… stale. We need space, you understand? So, if you’d be so kind — pack your things. You can stay somewhere else.”
For a long moment, I just stood there, the air thickening between us. Then something inside me — something that had been quiet for weeks — suddenly stirred awake.
“My dear,” I said softly, reaching into my pocket, “I think you’re the one who should be packing.”
