They simply pretended not to. Claire found out by accident.
Not through photographs, not through lipstick on a collar, not through gossip. Ethan had accidentally forwarded an airline confirmation to their shared email account.
Two first-class tickets. Destination St. Lucia.
Departure date October 3, the same week her doctor expected the baby to arrive. She stared at the screen for almost five minutes, waiting for some logical explanation.
A business associate, a client—anyone. Then she looked at the second passenger’s name, Vanessa Reed.
For a long time, Claire didn’t cry. She simply closed the laptop, walked into the nursery, and quietly folded tiny baby clothes until the sun came up.
The following morning, Ethan left for the airport before she woke. He kissed her forehead.
“Try to get some rest,” he said.
She smiled.
“I will.”
Neither of them mentioned St. Lucia. Neither of them mentioned Vanessa.
Sometimes the most painful lies are the ones both people silently agree not to discuss. Three days later, Claire went into labor alone.
And while contractions came closer together, her husband was watching the sunset from a private beach more than 1,500 miles away. By the second day in St. Lucia, Ethan had almost forgotten his wife was due to give birth.
Not because he had meant to, but because forgetting had become a habit. Every hour of his vacation had been carefully designed to keep reality far away.
Morning swims, luxury brunches overlooking the ocean, afternoons aboard a chartered yacht, evening cocktails beneath strings of lanterns swaying in the tropical breeze. Whenever his phone buzzed, he barely glanced at it before putting it face down again.
“Work?”
Vanessa asked as they sat beside the infinity pool.
“My mother.”
“You should answer.”
Ethan shrugged.
“If it’s important, she’ll leave a message.”
She smiled and leaned against his shoulder.
“I like this version of you.”
“What version?”
“The one who actually relaxes.”
He laughed.
