“You’re being paid to say things like that.”
“I’m being paid to play your boyfriend for one afternoon,” he replied. “I’m saying that now, on my own time.”
I let out a small, disbelieving laugh, the first one in weeks.
“He’s going to bring his mistress, Clark. Percy. She’s ten years younger than me and looks like she stepped off a runway. And he sent me a text saying she’s part of his family now.”
“And what did that feel like when you read it?”
“You’re being paid to say things like that.”
“Like he was trying to erase me.”
Clark set his coffee down.
“Then don’t let him. Don’t you want him to see how happy you are without him?”
I stared at him.
There was no smugness in his voice, no rehearsed line.
Just a steady, patient question.
“Then don’t let him.”
“I don’t know how to do this,” I admitted.
“You don’t have to do anything,” he said. “Just stand next to me. Smile at your children. Enjoy your son’s birthday. I’ll handle the rest.”
I thought about my son’s eyes in the doorway that morning.
I thought about the baby.
I thought about twenty years of believing I was safe.
Then I took a slow, shaky breath and nodded.
“I don’t know how to do this,”
“Okay. Saturday. Two o’clock.”
Clark smiled.
For the first time in months, I felt something dangerously close to hope.
I didn’t yet know that my children had a plan of their own.
Or that a small, wrapped box would change everything.
***
The music from the speakers competed with laughter and splashing water as I moved between clusters of guests.
My children had a plan of their own.
Clark stayed at my elbow, easy and calm.
He played his part with a warmth that almost felt real.
I kept scanning the gate, waiting.
My son, Ethan, appeared at my side with a gift box tucked under his arm.
He looked up at Clark with uncharacteristic seriousness.
“When Dad gets here, can you give this to him? It’s from us kids.”
I kept scanning the gate, waiting.
Clark glanced at me, then took the box.
“Sure, Ethan. Whatever you need.”
I opened my mouth to ask what was inside.
But Ethan was already gone.
Before I could follow, I heard the gate swing open.
Jordan strolled in like he still owned the place, one hand on the small of Percy’s back.
I opened my mouth to ask what was inside.
She wore a dress that probably cost more than my monthly grocery bill.
Her smile was practiced, cool.
Every conversation around us seemed to lower a notch.
“There she is,” Jordan called out, waving like we were old college friends. “The birthday boy’s mother.”
I pulled in a slow breath and felt Clark’s hand find the small of my back.
Every conversation around us seemed to lower a notch.
The touch steadied me more than I wanted to admit.
“Jordan,” I said evenly. “Percy.”
Percy tilted her head in a small nod.
She was already scanning the yard like she was measuring the furniture.
Then Jordan’s eyes landed on Clark.
He looked him up and down.
Once. Twice.
And then he laughed.
Then Jordan’s eyes landed on Clark.
Loud, ugly.
The kind of laugh that made nearby guests turn their heads.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jordan said, wiping at the corner of his eye. “Him? With you?”
“Jordan, please,” I said quietly.
“No, no, I’m serious.” He gestured at Clark like he was showcasing a car. “A man like this. Have you even looked at yourself in the mirror lately? Come on.”
“Him? With you?”
Heat crawled up my neck.
Percy pressed her lips together, hiding a smile behind her wine glass.
I wanted to disappear into the concrete under my feet.
Clark didn’t flinch.
He didn’t even look at me.
He simply reached down, lifted the small wrapped box from where he’d set it on the patio table, and held it out toward Jordan with an easy, unbothered smile.
Clark didn’t flinch.
“Funny,” he said. “You spent years judging people by their looks. Your children judged you by something much harder to fake.”
He held out the wrapped box.
“They asked me to make sure you got this.”
