The dining room smelled faintly of polished wood and expensive wine. She paused at the doorway, and every pair of eyes in the room lifted toward her. Chris Patrick sat at the head of the long table, fingers loose around a glass of red wine, as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment. His family surrounded him, all posture and judgment, like a painting where she didn’t belong.

Her gaze caught on the unfamiliar woman seated close to him. She was striking—not just beautiful, but comfortable, like she’d already earned her place here. The slight curve of her lips almost felt like a challenge, though no words were spoken.

Dinner began with the usual pretenses. Silver clinked. Someone murmured about the latest losses in the family business, about contracts falling apart and whispers in the market. She tried to focus on the plate in front of her, on cutting her food quietly, but the weight of the room pressed heavy against her shoulders.

It didn’t take long before the conversation shifted.

“Chris,” his mother said lightly, like a breeze carrying a knife. “I’m glad we invited Clara tonight. A woman like her… well, she feels like home, doesn’t she?”

Clara. So that was her name.

Chris hummed, not really an answer, swirling the wine in his glass. The deep red caught the light, turning almost black as he tilted it. He finally glanced toward Clara, then toward his wife, and the comparison was obvious even without words.

“Maybe Mother’s right,” he said eventually, his voice quiet but deliberate. “I can’t help thinking… if I’d chosen differently from the start, maybe things would’ve been easier. For all of us.”

Her stomach knotted. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

“Chris,” his father said, almost amused, “it’s not too late to correct a mistake.”

The table chuckled softly, like they were all in on the same secret. Even Clara lowered her gaze politely, though the small smile on her lips didn’t vanish. Chris leaned back in his chair, finally meeting his wife’s eyes. There was no anger there, no guilt. Just that quiet, unbearable disappointment.