Chapter Two
“That’s right,” Claire says gently. “Breathe with me.”
I copy her, inhaling when she does, exhaling a second later. Slowly, the dizziness starts fading.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper once I can finally think again. “That’s never happened before.”
“Well, you’re lucky.” Claire leans back slightly. “I’ve had panic attacks more times than I can count.”
“That wasn’t…” I start automatically.
Then I stop.
“Oh.”
The realization settles uncomfortably in my stomach.
“Yeah,” Claire says softly. “That was a panic attack.”
Heat floods my face.
I’m thirty-four years old and apparently, I fall apart in strangers’ basements now.
“Don’t spiral again,” Claire warns immediately, reading me too easily. “You do not want to trigger another one right now.”
I swallow hard. “What do I do?”
“You plan.”
I blink at her.
“Sell out if you have to.”
I stare, trying to figure out if this woman is about to explain how to murder my husband.
Claire snorts at my expression.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she says, standing from where she’d been crouched in front of me. Her knees crack loudly as she lowers herself back into the chair with a groan. “I’m old, not criminal.”
I smile faintly, relieved.
Claire reaches for her coffee again. “This husband of yours. Brad. Has he been off lately?”
I think about it carefully before shaking my head.
“No. If anything, he’s been more attentive lately.” My fingers brush my wrist automatically. “He bought me this.”
I raise my arm to show the delicate diamond bracelet. Then my stomach drops.
“Oh my God.”
Claire arches a brow.
“It’s a guilt gift,” I whisper in horror.
Before I can stop myself, I yank the bracelet off and dump it onto the table like it burned me.
Claire watches the entire thing calmly. “That’s good.”
I gape at her. “How is that good?”
“Husbands who buy their wives expensive gifts when they get girlfriends usually have no intention of leaving them.”
My jaw falls open.
“That is possibly the worst thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Claire waves me off. “What does he do?”
“He’s a plastic surgeon.”
Her eyebrows rise slightly. “Rich?”
I nod. “He wasn’t always. But he’s really good at his job.”
“You sound proud.”
“I was,” I admit quietly. “I mean… I am.” I stare down at my coffee. “I didn’t become a housewife because I dreamed of folding laundry all day. Brad encouraged it. Once he started making real money, he told me he wanted to take care of me.”
Claire studies me carefully across the table.
“Would you stay?”
The question shocks me enough that I answer immediately. “No.”
My voice comes out firm. Certain.
“Because the man who said those things to me…” My throat tightens. “He would never cheat on me.”
Claire lets out a relieved breath like she’d genuinely been worried about my answer.
“Well, thank God for standards.”
“What do I plan?” I ask quietly, finally circling back to what she said earlier.
Claire leans back in her chair. “You make sure that when you leave that son of a bitch, he doesn’t end up in her arms.”
“If I can’t have him, no one else can?” I ask skeptically.
“No.” Claire points her cookie at me. “That’s psychotic. Different genre entirely.”
A startled laugh escapes me at her statement.
Then her expression turns serious again.
“Would you be okay with them raising your child half the time?”
The question slices straight through me.
My smile disappears instantly.
“That is,” Claire continues calmly, “if they even agree to half custody.”
“You think…” I swallow hard. “You think they’d actually-”
Claire takes a slow sip of her coffee.
“Men cheat,” she says bluntly. “That’s unfortunately not revolutionary information.
But this girl?” She shakes her head slightly.
“If she’s sleeping with the man whose child she’s carrying, the man paying for her apartment, her medical care, her entire life, then she’s either after his money, plain selfish, or emotionally attached. ”
Each word lands heavier than the last.
“And emotionally attached people,” Claire says quietly, “don’t walk away cleanly.”
I grip the edge of the table tighter.
My mind immediately starts filling in the blanks.
They’ve already shut me out of the baby’s life, and she’s not even born yet.
My daughter.
And I wasn’t even there when they found out she was a girl.
Brad brought me a cupcake with pink filling afterward, smiling while I cried and hugged him like it was some thoughtful surprise instead of a moment I should’ve been part of.
Oh my God.
“He got her an apartment close to his work,” I whisper.
Claire says nothing.
“Fuck,” I say out loud, panic climbing again. “What if he’s already planning to leave? What if the bracelet was a pity gift?”
“Then you make him stay,” Claire says calmly.
I look at her helplessly. “How?”
“Men are simple creatures.” She shrugs. “Remind him why he fell in love with you in the first place.”
I stare down at my coffee, thinking.
Brad did ask me to go to a charity gala the hospital is hosting this weekend.
I’d said no at first because things with my friend group have been… weird lately.
We met in a Zumba class a few months after Brad and I moved to LA. Honestly; those women saved me back then. Moving across the country without family had been lonely in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
They stuck by me when I couldn’t afford the night outs, they went to budget places just to include me, hell they were the ones who convinced me that staying home was something I earned.
“Your husband’s a surgeon,” Melissa had said once over margaritas. “Why do you want to slave as an intern when you know you’ll be starting a family soon?”
I’d been skeptical at first. Don’t get me wrong. Staying home without kids felt strange back then. Pointless, even.
But they made it sound like something I’d earned after working multiple jobs to support Brad through his residency.
Most of the women in the group still work. Real estate, business owners, social media influencers, things like that. But we always made time for each other.
At least we used to.
Lately the group chat’s gone strangely quiet. Every time I suggest plans, someone’s busy.
And now that I’ve had time to think about it… They did seem odd the last few times we got together.
Like they were constantly trying not to say something.
Brad told me it was probably because I get to stay home while most of them still work full time. Then the surrogacy stuff happened, and maybe that made things awkward too.
But that doesn’t make sense.
Those women held me while I cried after failed fertility treatments.
They brought wine after my appointments.
Jenny literally offered to do a background check when we got matched with Laila.
They were supportive.
I watch Claire stand and start cleaning the table. When I rise to help, she points at me firmly.
“Sit. I’m more than capable of carrying two cups.”
I sink back into the chair obediently, getting lost in my thoughts again.
I wonder if my so-called friends knew.
No. That’s impossible.
We’ve spent entire brunches trash-talking ex-boyfriends and husbands with beautiful secretaries. There’s no way those women would stay quiet if they knew Brad was sleeping with someone else.
Not even if he’s friends with most of their husbands.
Besides, Laila wasn’t even around back then.
A tiny voice whispers in the back of my mind anyway.
What if she’s not the first?
I clear my throat hard, shoving the thought away before it can settle.
When Claire comes back to the table, I offer her a small smile.
“I’m sorry for dumping all my problems on you. I interrupted your painting.”
“Oh, please.” She waves a dismissive hand. “All my friends talk about now are knee pain and hip replacements. I could use the drama.”
A laugh slips out of me. “Are you married?”
I’d noticed the ring earlier. Thin gold band, worn soft with time.
Claire twists it absently around her finger before smiling.
“Was for many years.” Her expression gentles. “He passed some time ago.”
“Oh.” Guilt punches through me instantly. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. He lived a beautiful life.”
The way she says it feels sad. Almost like she’s assuring herself more than me.
A thought suddenly occurs to me. “So not all men cheat?”
Claire’s mouth curves slightly. “Not all,” she allows. “There are good ones out there.”
I huff out a breath.
“You just have to wade through a pool of assholes to find them.”
I laugh again, louder this time. “You really have a way with words.”
Claire leans back in her chair with a sigh. “I’ve lived long enough to stop wasting time making things sound prettier than they are.”
I glance toward the half-finished painting again. “That’s funny coming from an artist.”
She follows my gaze toward the painting.
“Art isn’t about making things prettier,” she says quietly. “It’s about making people look at something long enough to actually see it.”
“Well,” I say softly as I push myself away from the table, “you’ve made me see a lot today.”
I start gathering my things, stuffing the bracelet into my purse and grabbing the bags off the floor.
I hesitate for a second before looking back at her.
“Can I…” My throat tightens unexpectedly. “Can I come back?”
Claire looks almost offended by the question. “You better.”
Something in my chest cracks a little at the easy answer.
She pulls her phone from the pocket of her overalls and unlocks it before holding it out to me.
“Put your number in. I’ll give you a missed call.” Then, more casually, “And if you need somewhere to go, I’ve got a spare room.”
I smile at her. Trying very hard not to cry again.
I’m in my thirties. A grown woman. Married. And somehow all I want right now is my mom.
Claire feels a little like one.
The thought makes my chest ache. I really should call my parents more often.
Even if they are currently enjoying their well-planned retirement in… somewhere on earth.
After typing my number into her phone, I hand it back carefully.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Before I can think too hard about it, I lean forward and hug her quickly.
Claire hugs me back without hesitation.
She’s so warm and comforting that for one horrible second, I almost beg her to let me stay.
But I don’t.
Because while I miss my mother, I’m one now too.
Maybe not legally yet. Maybe not in any way the world seems to fully respect.
But that little girl is still mine.
And no way in hell am I letting anyone take her from me.
Not even her father.