Chapter 6 - CLARA'S VERSION
Clara arrived just after seven without calling.
Of course she did.
Women like Clara never enter a room unless they already believe they can control it.
She walked into my dining room, saw the fertility documents, and went still for exactly one breath before recovering.
Glen looked wrecked.
Clara looked irritated.
That difference alone made me hate her more.
I folded my arms.
“You have ten seconds to explain why one of my embryos is in your body.”
Clara lifted her chin. “Because neither of you was using it.”
I actually stared at her.
“You stole from me and that’s your defense?”
“It is not stealing,” she said coolly. “It is preserving something that would otherwise sit frozen forever.”
“Something?” I stepped toward her. “You mean my child?”
Glen muttered, “Rachel—”
“Shut up.”
Clara rested one hand over her stomach in a motion so proprietary I nearly lost control.
“You and Glen were falling apart,” she said. “You wouldn’t admit it. He wanted another baby. You kept saying not yet.”
“You sleeping with my husband does not turn your opinion into consent.”
She smiled then.
A small, ugly smile.
“That is where you are still being sentimental. This wasn’t about sleep.”
My skin prickled.
“What does that mean?”
Glen snapped, “Clara.”
She ignored him.
“He came to me because he needed someone practical.”
I looked between them.
Slowly the pieces shifted again.
I had assumed the affair led to the embryo transfer.
But maybe the transfer led to the affair.
Or maybe there had never been a line between them at all.
“How long?” I asked.
Neither answered.
“How long?” I screamed.
Glen swallowed. “Eight months.”
I lunged at him before I even realized I’d moved.
Not to hit him.
To shove him.
Hard.
He stumbled back into the counter.
Ariel’s voice floated from the hallway.
“Mommy?”
I froze.
Every adult body in the room froze with me.
I turned.
My daughter stood in footie pajamas clutching her rabbit, looking terrified.
I crossed the room and dropped to my knees in front of her.
“It’s okay, baby.”
She looked past me at Clara.
Then at Glen.
Then whispered, “Are they bad?”
The truth rose to my mouth so fast it nearly came out whole.
Instead I gathered her into my arms and said the only answer a three-year-old needed.
“They did something very wrong.”
She clung tighter.
Over her shoulder, I looked at Clara.
And Clara looked back at me with a calm that told me she still believed she could win.
Then she said, “Whatever you decide to do, be careful. There’s a child involved now.”
The words hit me like acid.
May you like
There was always a child involved.
She just finally meant one she cared about.
