“The woman in the photograph is named Vanessa.”
The name hit me like a physical blow.
“She isn’t new, Claire.”
My fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket. “How long?”
My father’s expression darkened. “Almost six years.”
Six years.
I closed my eyes.
My marriage was seven years old. Which meant Eric had been cheating for almost the entire time.
The room spun. Megan, who had arrived moments earlier with coffee, immediately sat beside me.
“Oh my God,” she whispered after seeing the photograph.
I couldn’t even cry. The betrayal was too large, too overwhelming. It felt like my mind simply shut down.
Then my father said something that made everything worse.
“There’s more.”
Of course there was. There always was. “What?”
“The little boy isn’t his only child.”
The silence that followed seemed endless.
“What did you say?”
“There are two children.”
I stared at him. “No.”
“Claire—”
“No.” I shook my head. “No.”
But my father didn’t take it back. Because it was true.
Eric hadn’t simply been having an affair. He had been living an entirely separate life. A second family. A second home. A second version of himself.
While I sat alone attending doctor’s appointments. While I decorated a nursery. While I believed we were building a future together.
Hours later, Eric finally appeared at the hospital again. This time security escorted him upstairs. Apparently he had spent the entire morning calling everyone. Me, my parents, Megan, even hospital staff. Nobody answered.
When he walked into the room, he immediately noticed the photograph sitting beside my bed. The color drained from his face.
In that moment, I didn’t need confirmation. His reaction told me everything.
“Claire—”
“Who is she?”
He froze. “Who?”
I picked up the photograph. “Don’t insult me.”
His eyes flickered toward my father.
Wrong move.
Because my father stood up. Slowly. Calmly. The way a storm gathers before it breaks.
“You have exactly one chance to tell the truth.”
Eric swallowed. For the first time since I had met him, he looked cornered.
