The door opened.
Ryan walked in.
With a woman.
His hand was wrapped around her waist like it lived there.
She was younger than me. Maybe late 20s, with perfect hair.
For a second, my brain tried to make it something normal.
Maybe she’s a coworker. Maybe he picked her up because her car broke down.
Maybe—
Then he kissed her on the side of the head.
The room went weirdly quiet, the way rooms do in movies. Conversations dropped mid-sentence.
People pretended not to stare and failed miserably.
Ryan walked straight toward me with her, like I was the hostess, not his wife.
“Claire,” he said, smiling too wide. “Look at this.
You outdid yourself.”
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
“This is Emily,” he said, turning slightly so everyone nearby could hear. “My girlfriend.”
The word hit me like a slap.
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