Her eyes widened. “About what?”
“All these people are messaging me about Claire.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
I turned the screen toward her.
She read my mother’s message, then Emily’s.
For a moment, the restaurant noise seemed to recede—the clink of glasses, the soft music, the conversations rising and falling around us.
Tessa reached for my hand.
“Daniel, maybe you should call your mother.”
I pulled my hand away.
“Why?”
“Because she said it was urgent.”
“You just told me Claire probably grieved the marriage months ago.”
“I still believe that.”
“How do you know?”
Her lips parted, but she didn’t answer.
That was the first moment I understood that the forty-three messages might not be a coincidence.
I stood so quickly that my chair scraped against the floor.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Home.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No.”
“Daniel—”
“I said no.”
I didn’t say it loudly, but the sharpness in my voice made her sit back.
The woman I had chosen over my wife looked suddenly unfamiliar across the white tablecloth. Not cruel. Not guilty.
Just unfamiliar.
Like someone I had spent eighteen months imagining I knew.
I left cash beneath the edge of the plate and walked out into the cold.
The wind coming off the river cut through my coat. Chicago was turning blue with late afternoon, the buildings reflecting the last weak light of the day. I stood on the sidewalk and called my mother.
She answered on the first ring.
“Daniel.”
“What happened?”
She was quiet for a moment.
“Where are you?”
“Outside the restaurant.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Go home.”
“Mom, what is this?”
“I don’t want to explain over the phone.”
“You already sent me a message saying Claire left something for me.”
“She did.”
“What did she leave?”
Another pause.
Then my mother said, “A letter. And a key.”
“A key to what?”
“You need to go to your apartment first.”
“Why?”
“Because you need to see what you didn’t see while you were living there.”
The call ended before I could ask anything else.
I stood on the sidewalk with the phone against my ear.
A taxi passed, spraying dirty water against the curb.
I thought about Claire’s face that morning.
How calm she had been.
How she had slid the pen back across the table as if she had been waiting for that exact moment for a very long time.
I had assumed her calm meant she no longer cared.
But perhaps it meant something else.
Perhaps she had already said goodbye in ways I had never noticed.
My apartment was twenty minutes away in River North. I drove without turning on the radio. Twice, I nearly called Tessa. Twice, I stopped myself.
When I arrived, I found Emily’s car parked outside.
She was waiting in the lobby.
My younger sister had always been the person who translated our family’s silences. She knew when our mother was worried, when our father was angry, when I was lying to myself.
She looked at me now with red-rimmed eyes.
“Where is the letter?” I asked.
“Upstairs.”
“Did Claire give it to you?”
“No. She gave it to Mom.”
“Why?”
