Chapter 2 - The Perfect Dinner
I didn't call Owen immediately. If I called him while I was hysterical, he might confront Claire before we had all the pieces. Instead, I sat in the nursery rocking chair for three hours, staring at the wall, letting the shock harden into something sharp and cold. When Damon came upstairs to check on me, I was folding baby clothes. "You okay?" he asked, rubbing my shoulders. His touch made my skin crawl, but I leaned into it. "Just tired," I lied.
The ultimate test came two nights later. Claire and Owen were coming over for dinner. It was a tradition we held every month, taking turns hosting. At 7:00 PM, the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find Claire standing there, holding a bottle of sparkling cider for me and a bottle of expensive red wine for the rest of them. She threw her arms around me. "Look at that bump!" she squealed, pressing her hands against my stomach. The same hands that had been clutching my coat in the dark. I forced a smile, hugging her back. "It's getting heavy." Owen hugged me next. Good, sweet, loyal Owen. He was an architect, a man who built his entire life around Claire, designing their future home from the ground up. He had no idea his foundation was rotting.
During dinner, I watched them. I watched the micro-expressions. When Damon reached for the salt, his arm brushed Claire's. She didn't flinch. She leaned into it. When Owen talked about how excited he was to be an 'uncle' to our baby, Damon took a long, hard swallow of wine and avoided eye contact. “Have you guys thought about names yet?” Claire asked, twirling pasta on her fork. “We have a few ideas,” Damon smiled, looking at her, not me. “But Maya is keeping them a secret.”
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“I just want it to be perfect,” I said quietly, looking right into Claire's eyes. “Trust is so important, don't you think? Building a family requires total transparency.” Claire didn't even blink. "Absolutely. You and Damon are so lucky. You have the perfect marriage." Under the table, I clenched my napkin until my knuckles turned white. They were so arrogant. So deeply convinced of their own cleverness.
After dessert, while Damon and Claire were clearing the plates in the kitchen, I pulled Owen aside in the living room. "Owen, I need you to meet me tomorrow," I whispered, keeping my back to the kitchen. "Sure, Maya. Is everything okay?" he asked, frowning at the urgency in my tone. "Not here," I said, my voice barely audible. "The coffee shop two towns over. 10 AM. Tell Claire you have a client meeting." He nodded slowly. "Okay. I'll be there." As Claire walked back into the room, wiping her hands on a dish towel, I smiled brightly. "Thanks for helping clean up, Claire. You're the best friend a girl could ask for."
