The moment Caleb’s SUV disappeared around the corner, I stopped crying.
Not because I was okay.
Because I finally understood.
I had spent three years trying to keep peace with people who never
respected me.
And that day, I decided I was finished.
I was eight months pregnant.
Barefoot.
Standing on the marble floor of the house everyone called theirs.
The house they expected me to clean before they returned.
An hour earlier, Caleb kissed my forehead.
“Don’t be dramatic, Claire.”
“It’s only a week.”
His mother Diane rolled her designer suitcase toward the door.
She laughed.
“And don’t forget the guest rooms.”
“I want the whole house spotless before we get back.”
His sister Brooke smiled.
“Maybe the baby can help.”
They laughed.
All three of them.
I stood there with swollen ankles.
One hand supporting my stomach.
Watching the people I had cooked for.
