Chapter 1 - The Name on the Screen
Rachel.
My younger sister.
Her name flashed across Michael’s phone while every person at Diane’s dining table stared at it.
Michael reached for the phone.
I got there first.
“Claire,” he said quietly.
I picked it up.
“Don’t.”
I answered anyway.
“Rachel?”
There was silence on the other end.
Then my sister whispered, “Oh, God.”
Diane folded her arms.
Michael looked like he might be sick.
I walked away from the table and switched the phone to speaker.
“You’re on speaker,” I said.
“Claire, don’t do this there.”
“Do what?”
Rachel breathed hard.
“Have this conversation.”
I looked directly at Michael.
“What conversation?”
Michael stepped toward me.
“Claire, give me the phone.”
I backed away.
“No.”
Emma had gotten up from her chair.
She stood near the doorway, frightened and confused.
I immediately pointed toward the living room.
“Sweetheart, take your tablet and wait for me in there.”
“But Mom—”
“Please.”
Emma obeyed.
The moment she disappeared, I looked back at the phone.
“Rachel.”
My voice shook despite everything I did to steady it.
“What happens on Thursday nights?”
Another silence.
Diane laughed.
Michael snapped toward her.
“This is funny to you?”
“No,” Diane said.
“It’s overdue.”
Rachel finally spoke.
“Michael comes to see me.”
My stomach dropped.
Diane’s expression became triumphant.
I felt heat rush into my face.
“How long?”
“Six months.”
Michael closed his eyes.
Six months.
Twenty-six Thursdays.
Twenty-six lies about late meetings, client dinners, networking events, and traffic.
I looked at the man I had slept beside every night.
“Are you sleeping with my sister?”
Rachel answered first.
“No!”
Her response came so quickly that even Diane stopped smiling.
“No, Claire.”
“It is not that.”
“Then what is it?”
Michael rubbed both hands over his face.
Rachel’s voice cracked.
“I helped him find someone.”
“Who?”
“Claire,” Michael said.
I ignored him.
“Rachel, who did you help my husband find?”
My sister began crying.
“The son he told you never existed.”
The room went completely silent.
I stared at Michael.
He stared back.
I could hear the clock above Diane’s stove ticking.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Finally, I whispered, “You don’t have a son.”
Michael’s face collapsed.
Diane looked away.
That was when I knew.
Not suspected.
Knew.
Michael swallowed.
“I didn’t know for sure until six months ago.”
My legs suddenly felt weak.
“Who is his mother?”
Michael said nothing.
Diane answered.
“Natalie.”
His first wife.
The woman Diane had praised less than ten minutes earlier.
The woman I had been told disappeared from their lives more than a decade ago.
Rachel spoke through the phone.
“His name is Lucas.”
I gripped the back of a chair.
“How old?”
Michael whispered the answer.
“Ten.”
Emma was eight.
I looked at him.
Then at Diane.
Then back at him.
And one horrifying question formed in my mind.
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“When exactly did your marriage to Natalie end?”
Michael’s silence told me I was about to discover that Thursday nights were only the first lie.
