At the party, reactions came almost immediately.

One of his coworkers blinked at me, then laughed.

“Ryan, your wife looks incredible!”

Ryan’s face lit up.

“I know, right?”

Something about the way he said it irritated me.

As if he’d trained me for this.

As if my body had been a project he’d supervised.

He kept one hand around my waist most of the evening and introduced me with an enthusiasm I hadn’t seen in months.

“This is Claire.”

Every time someone complimented me, his grip tightened slightly.

I remembered the black dress.

The bathroom floor.

The way I’d covered my mouth so he wouldn’t hear me crying.

Now he looked at me as if I’d finally become worth showing off again.

While Ryan talked to someone from accounting, I noticed a woman near the bar watching him.

Not staring exactly.

Just watching.

When our eyes met, she quickly looked away and took a sip of her drink.

I thought nothing of it.

Not then.

On the drive home, Ryan rested a hand on my knee and grinned.

“See? I knew you still had it in you.”

I looked out the window.

“Mm-hm.”

A few days later, he came home carrying flowers.

Actual flowers.

I couldn’t remember the last time he’d brought me any.

He handed them over with a smile.

“You look like the woman I married again.”

I looked at the bouquet, then back at him and smiled.

“Then let me plan something special for us.”

His expression instantly brightened.

He thought I meant romance.

Maybe a few months earlier, I would have.

But by then, I’d started paying much closer attention.

Three days later, a message arrived from a number I didn’t recognize.

“I think we need to talk about Ryan.”

I read it twice.

Then a third time.

My first thought was that it involved work, perhaps someone from his office who’d gotten my number at the party.

I replied.

“Who is this?”

The answer came almost immediately.

“Hannah. The woman you saw at the party.”

My stomach dropped.

We met the next afternoon at a coffee shop across town.

I recognized her the moment she walked in.

She sat opposite me, wrapped both hands around her cup, and looked like she hadn’t slept much either.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

That was enough.

“How long?”

She swallowed. “About six months.”

I stared at the table.

Six months.

While I pushed the stroller every morning.

While I counted pounds.

While Ryan asked whether I’d “made progress.”

“He told me your marriage was basically over,” Hannah continued. “He said you two barely spoke anymore. That you’d let yourself go after the baby and stopped caring about the relationship.”

I looked up.

She winced.

“I know how awful that sounds.”

“No. Keep going.”

“He said he was going to leave. He just wanted to wait until the timing was right.”

“And then you saw us at the party.”

She nodded.

“He had his hand on you all night. He kept introducing you as his beautiful wife. He looked proud of you.”

I gave a short laugh that didn’t feel like one.

Then I started asking questions.

Dates.

Which nights.

Which “work dinners.”

Which weekends he’d supposedly been helping with a project.

I didn’t need many answers.

After a while, Hannah leaned back and whispered, “He made me think you were the problem.”

I looked at her.

“He made me think I was the problem too.”

For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then her expression sharpened.

“What are you going to do?”

I looked down at my coffee.

An idea was already forming.

We properly exchanged numbers before leaving.

Two days later, I found Ryan in the living room scrolling through his phone.

“I booked us a night away,” I said.

He looked up.

“Where?”

I smiled.

“The hotel where we spent our wedding night.”

Ryan loved the idea.

For the next three days, he behaved like a man who had already won.

He bought a new dark blue fitted shirt, the kind he knew looked good on him.

The afternoon of our reservation, I found him packing an overnight bag.

“You think we need champagne?” he asked.

I glanced at the bag.

“Probably not.”

He grinned.

“Mysterious.”

I smiled back.

“That’s the idea.”

By the time we arrived at the hotel, Ryan was practically glowing.

The place looked almost exactly as I remembered from our wedding night—soft lighting, white tablecloths, piano music drifting from the lobby.

Ryan reached across the table and took my hand.

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it. You really do.”

He went on about how good it was to see me “back to myself,” how much happier I seemed, and how much better our marriage had become.

I let him talk.

Eventually, he leaned back and smiled.