Vanessa nearly laughed into her wine.
Daniel arrived ten minutes late, cheeks flushed, smelling like winter air and cologne. The moment he stepped through the doorway, he saw the covered frame.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“The centerpiece,” I said.
His eyes narrowed. He looked at Vanessa. She gave the smallest shake of her head.
Too late.
I let dinner begin. I let them eat. I let Richard complain about modern women. I let Vanessa touch Daniel’s wrist under the table, thinking no one noticed. I let his sisters joke that I was lucky Daniel had stayed with someone “so plain.”
Then Richard leaned back and said, “Claire, when are you going to stop playing with numbers and support your husband properly? Daniel has a real future if you stop holding him down.”
Daniel smirked.
Vanessa lifted her glass. “Some wives are anchors.”
I placed my napkin on the table. “Interesting word.”
The room quieted.
Daniel sighed. “Claire, don’t start.”
“I won’t.” I stood. “I’ll finish.”
I walked to the covered frame and gripped the black cloth.
Daniel’s face changed before I pulled it away. His arrogance cracked first. Then his color vanished.
The cloth dropped.
Their bodies, their faces, my bed, my wedding photo behind them—six feet tall under the chandelier.
Vanessa’s glass shattered on the floor.
Daniel froze at the doorway between husband and corpse.
I smiled and said, “Welcome home. Tonight, everyone gets to see what kind of family you really are.”
Part 3
For three seconds, no one moved.
Then Richard stood so fast his chair hit the wall. “What the hell is this?”
“A photograph,” I said. “Sent to me by your wife.”
Vanessa’s lips trembled, but her eyes were vicious. “It’s fake.”
I clicked the remote in my hand. The television behind me came alive.
TV & Video
Screenshot. Timestamp. Message thread. Metadata report. The original file path. My lawyer’s preservation notice.
“No,” I said. “It’s authenticated.”
Daniel finally found his voice. “Claire, listen to me.”
“I did. For five years.”
