At the table, everything looked the way it was supposed to. Daniel reached for Clare’s hand. Eleanor commented on the view. Brooke poured water, then wine, then smiled as if she were part of the picture rather than someone newly added to it. Clare let herself relax into the moment.
Midway through dinner, when the plates had been cleared and the second round of wine arrived, Clare did something she hadn’t planned. She told them. Not all at once. Not ceremoniously. Just a pause in the conversation, her fork resting against the edge of the plate, her voice steady when she spoke.