Chapter 3 - The Cold DawnThe sun rose over the eastern horizon, painting the sky in bruised shades of violet and gray, but Claire didn’t notice the dawn. She sat at her parents’ kitchen table in the quiet suburbs two towns over, a mug of cold black coffee untouched between her hands.
Her mother, Sarah, sat across from her, looking as though she had aged ten years in the span of a single hour. Her hands were clasped tightly over a floral napkin, her eyes wide with shock and suppressed fury. Her father, Robert, stood by the window, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek, staring out into the empty street as if expecting Jason to materialize out of thin air.
“An eleven-month double life,” Sarah whispered, her voice shaking as she repeated the phrase for the third time. “I baked him a lemon meringue pie on his birthday. I asked him how his knee was holding up from his ‘tennis leagues.’ And all the while... sweet Jesus, Claire.”
“He didn't just cheat, Mom,” Claire said, her voice completely flat, drained of all emotion. “Cheating is an impulse. It’s a weakness. What Jason did was a construction project. He spent nearly a year laying the foundation, framing the walls, and moving into a completely separate reality where I didn't exist.”
“Where is he now?” Robert asked, his deep voice rumbling with a dangerous edge that Claire hadn't heard since she was a teenager. “Give me his address. I’ll go talk to him.”
“No, Dad,” Claire looked up, her gaze sharp. “No violence. No shouting matches. That’s what he wants—he wants to frame this as an emotional meltdown so he can play the victim. We are going to handle this legally, surgically, and quietly. Until my lawyer files the papers, he doesn't get another inch of ground.”
Just on cue, the kitchen silence was broken by the aggressive buzzing of Claire’s cell phone.
It was ringing again. Not Jason this time, but an unknown number with a local area code. Claire stared at the screen, watching the numbers flash against the dark glass.
“Answer it,” Sarah urged gently, placing a trembling hand over Claire’s. “You have to face it, sweetheart.”
Claire swiped the answer button and pressed the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
“Claire?”
It wasn’t Jason. It was Brooke.
Claire tensed, pulling the phone slightly away from her ear as if it might bite. “Brooke? How did you get this number?”
“Jason’s phone,” Brooke said, her voice sounding exhausted, sharp, and tightly wound. “He left it on the kitchen counter of his apartment. It kept buzzing with missed calls from your mother, so I looked at the screen. Claire... I need to talk to you. There are things you don't know yet. Things he didn't tell you last night.”
“I think I know plenty, Brooke,” Claire replied coldly. “I know about the tango lessons. I know about the anniversary showcase. I know about the cabin trips.”
“Cabin trips?” Brooke’s voice hitched on the other end of the line. A sharp intake of breath echoed through the speaker. “What cabin trips, Claire?”
Claire froze. The silence stretched between them for three agonizing seconds.
“The cabin trips,” Claire repeated slowly. “The weekend getaways. The ones he took three months ago when I was in Seattle.”
“Claire... I have never been to a cabin with Jason,” Brooke said, her voice dropping to a trembling whisper. “Three months ago, during your Seattle conference, Jason told me he had to fly to Chicago for a corporate merger. He told me he couldn't text me all weekend because he was locked in boardrooms with senior executives.”
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A cold shiver raced down Claire’s spine, freezing the blood in her veins.
If Brooke hadn't been with him at the cabin... and Jason hadn't been in Chicago... then where the hell had Jason been for four days? And more importantly—who had he been with?
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