The Lie That Broke the Truth
The next morning, the house felt colder. Clara hadn't left, but she didn't join them for breakfast.
Eleanor sipped her coffee and said casually, "Perhaps she's tired of pretending."
Ethan shot her a warning look. "Enough."
Isabella, ever composed, set her cup down delicately. "Maybe she just needs time, Ethan. Relationships are fragile things."
He looked up sharply. "Don't talk about my marriage like it's a business contract."
She smiled faintly. "But isn't that how it started?"
Ethan froze.
Clara had just entered the dining hall—and she'd heard every word.
For a moment, silence. Then Clara whispered, "So that's what I was to you? A contract?"
Ethan stood instantly. "Clara, no—it's not like that."
"Then what is it?" she demanded, tears glinting in her eyes. "Because from where I'm standing, it feels like I was just convenient until she came back."
"Don't say that."
"Why not? It's the truth, isn't it?"
"Clara," he said, stepping forward, "you're my wife."
She shook her head. "Your wife on paper, maybe. But she's the one you defend."
Isabella rose gracefully. "Perhaps I should go—"
"Stay right there," Clara snapped, surprising them both. Her voice trembled but didn't break. "You wanted me to see this, didn't you?"
Isabella's lips curved. "I don't know what you mean."
"You do," Clara whispered. "And the worst part? He lets you."
Ethan reached for her, but she stepped back.
"I'm done trying to understand you, Ethan," she said softly. "If you wanted me to leave, you should've just said so."
She turned and walked out, her footsteps echoing like thunder in the silence she left behind.
Ethan stood there, frozen, the words trapped in his throat—the truth too tangled to untie.