Chapter 4
Daniel tried to speak to Claire in the hallway outside the lawyer’s office, looking older, smaller, and desperately hollowed out. “Claire... is there any way we can talk? Just as friends? After all these years...”
Claire stopped, adjusting the strap of her leather handbag. She looked at him with a profound, untroubled indifference that hurt him far more than any scream or curse ever could. “Daniel, for eighteen years, I thought my life depended on whether you chose me,” she said, her voice remarkably gentle. “I spent so much time worrying that I wasn't enough, that I didn't know the right things, that I was too ordinary to keep you. But walking out of that kitchen was the best thing that ever happened to me. I found out who I was when I didn't have to carry your lies anymore.”
May you like
She walked down the carpeted corridor toward the elevators, her heels clicking steadily against the floor—a steady, rhythmic sound of a woman moving forward into a future she had engineered with her own hands.
That evening, Claire and Hannah celebrated in their new penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park—a breathtaking space with floor-to-ceiling windows and a massive, modern kitchen with gleaming white cabinets and pristine marble counters. There was no history of deceit in this apartment, no ghost of a stolen key, and no shadow of a second family. They ordered gourmet pizza, poured sparkling cider into crystal flutes, and laughed until their ribs ached while playing board games on the living room rug.
