"I know." "Stop saying you know. You found out tonight." He swallowed. "I love you."
Claire looked toward the living room, where the family tried not to listen. "I believe you think you do." "I do."
"Maybe. But your version of love allowed you to lie to me, humiliate me, blame my grief, and bring someone else into my home because you thought I wouldn't be here. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with that word now."
"Give me a chance to prove it." "Not tonight." "Eventually?" "I don't know."
He nodded, but the uncertainty frightened him more than a definitive answer. "I ended it with Vanessa," he said. Claire stared at him. "No, you didn't."
"I will." "She ended the conversation and walked out. Don't rewrite something that happened ten minutes ago while the witnesses are still here." Ethan looked down.
Claire stepped closer, not tenderly but because she wanted him to hear every word without misunderstanding.
"This is the last lie I am correcting for you tonight. If you ever want even the possibility of speaking to me about our marriage again, you stop editing reality to protect yourself. You tell the whole truth even when it makes you look terrible. Especially then."
"Okay." "I don't believe you yet." "I understand." "Go to your parents' house."
He picked up the bag.
As he turned, Thomas moved toward the entryway to retrieve his coat. Margaret began gathering her purse. Natalie walked to the side table for her keys. Everyone suddenly had a task because departure, at least, was something they understood.
That was when the accident happened.
Brooke had been standing near the cake table with a stack of unused dessert plates pressed against her chest. When Thomas turned toward the coat closet, she stepped backward to make room for him. Her heel caught the loose power cord of a small decorative lamp Claire had placed beside the family photographs. Brooke jerked instinctively, trying to regain her balance, and her hip struck the edge of the round table.
The movement was small. The consequence was not.
The table tilted. Margaret gasped. Natalie reached out too late. For one suspended second the cake seemed to slide in slow motion, the white frosting shifting across the silver base as all thirty-three unlit candles in their box scattered onto the floor. Then the entire cake tipped over the edge.
It hit the hardwood with a heavy, wet crash.
Chocolate layers split beneath the frosting. Bourbon caramel spread across the floorboards. The gold script spelling Ethan's name folded into itself until only two letters remained visible. One of the framed photographs fell after it, landing faceup beside the ruined cake. It was the wedding picture Claire had placed closest to the table.