PART 11

PART 11

That evening, Julian came home at 9:38.

He looked exhausted.

Or pretended to.

“Long day,” he said.

I smiled.

“I made dinner.”

He looked surprised.

“You did?”

“Of course.”

He kissed me.

I forced myself not to recoil.

Dinner was quiet.

Halfway through the meal, Julian put down his fork.

“Claire.”

“Yes?”

“I think we should talk.”

I waited.

He took a breath.

“There have been some complications.”

I looked at him.

“With Sophie?”

His fork stopped moving.

I kept my face calm.

“What?”

“You said Sophie.”

I smiled.

“You were talking about her.”

He stared at me.

For the first time, the mask slipped.

“You know?”

I didn’t answer.

His face went pale.

“How long?”

I took a sip of water.

“Long enough.”

He stood abruptly.

“You’ve been spying on me.”

“No.”

“You’ve been going through my things.”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?”

I looked at him.

“I understand German.”

Silence.

Complete silence.

His mouth opened slightly.

“You…”

“Yes.”

“You’ve understood us all this time?”

“Not all this time.”

I smiled sadly.

“But long enough.”

He sat down.

I watched him.

“Tell me about Sophie.”

He looked at the table.

“Claire, I can explain.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“She was in a difficult situation.”

“Pregnant with your child?”

He closed his eyes.

“Yes.”

I nodded.

“Five months?”

“Yes.”

“While you were telling me to keep trying?”

He said nothing.

I felt something inside me break.

Not because I didn’t know.

Because hearing him admit it made everything real.

“You knew I was taking those medications.”

“I know.”

“You knew how much they hurt me.”

“I know.”

“You knew I wanted a child more than anything.”

“I know.”

“And you still did it.”

His eyes filled with tears.

“Claire, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

I laughed bitterly.

“How was it supposed to happen?”

He didn’t answer.

I stood.

“Tell me.”

He looked at me.

“My mother had a plan.”

I froze.

“Your mother?”

“Yes.”

“What plan?”

He rubbed his forehead.

“She knew about Sophie.”

“And?”

“She wanted Sophie to have the baby.”

I stared at him.

“Obviously.”

“She also knew you couldn’t have children.”

My heart clenched.

“You mean she knew about our failed treatments?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

He looked away.

I suddenly understood.

“She knew because you told her.”

Julian didn’t respond.

“You told your mother about my medical records.”

“I was desperate.”

“For what?”

He stood.

“To have a child.”

I stared at him.

“So you found another woman.”

“No.”

“Your mother did?”

He didn’t answer.

I walked closer.

“Did you love Sophie?”

“No.”

“Did you sleep with her?”

He closed his eyes.

“Yes.”

I nodded.

“Then what am I supposed to call that?”

He whispered, “A mistake.”

“A mistake that lasted eighteen months?”

Silence.

I felt tears burning my eyes.

“Why did you marry me?”

His face crumpled.

“I loved you.”

“Past tense?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

He didn’t answer.

I asked again.

“Why did you marry me?”

Finally, he whispered:

“Because my family wanted your father’s money.”

The room seemed to tilt.

I stared at him.

“What?”

He looked horrified.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did.”

“No.”

“You just said it.”

“I was angry.”

“You were honest.”

He reached for me.

I stepped back.

“Don’t touch me.”

He stopped.

I looked at him.

“My father knew.”

Julian’s expression changed.

“What?”

“My father knew what your family wanted.”

He went pale.

I continued.

“He knew.”

“Claire…”

“He knew before our wedding.”

Julian stared at me.

“How?”

I smiled.

“My father kept records.”

Then I walked away.

That night, I slept in the guest room.

At 2:14 a.m., my phone vibrated.

Unknown number.

I stared at it.

Then I answered.

“Hello?”

A woman’s voice whispered:

“Claire?”

I sat upright.

“Sophie?”

“Yes.”