No kiss.
I drove home confused.
Then did something my old self would not have.
I called my therapist.
“I enjoyed dinner.”
He said:
“That sounds legal.”
“I hate you.”
“Why is enjoyment frightening?”
“Because if I enjoy her, I might forgive too fast.”
“Forgiveness has a speed limit?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
“You are afraid affection will override judgment.”
“Exactly.”
“So don’t let it.”
“Very useful.”
“You’re welcome.”
We began seeing each other occasionally.
Never secretly.
Never automatically.
Sometimes with Nora.
Sometimes without.
Claire did not call it reconciliation.
Neither did I.
We were dating.
Our own spouse.
That was strange enough.
Sixteen months after Nora’s birth, Claire invited me to a therapy session with Dr. Levin.
The therapist I had once resented because she knew secrets before I did.
I almost refused.
Then went.
Dr. Levin was calm.
Mid-fifties.
Nothing like the conspirator I had imagined.
She said:
“Claire asked you here because she wants to disclose something from before the ultimatum.”
My stomach tightened.
Claire looked terrified.
“What?”
She took a breath.
“The envelope wasn’t my first plan.”
I felt cold.
“What was?”
“I was going to terminate the pregnancy.”
Silence.
I stared.
Claire began crying.
“I scheduled an appointment.”
“When?”
“Before I told you.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
“Because I thought there was a good chance it wasn’t yours.”
“And I thought if I ended the pregnancy, I could hide the affair and try to repair our marriage without you ever knowing.”
I stood.
Dr. Levin said nothing.
Claire continued through tears.
“I didn’t go.”
“Why?”
“The morning of the appointment, I realized I was making another irreversible decision to avoid telling you the truth.”
“So instead you decided to manipulate me.”
“Yes.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Fantastic improvement.”
Claire sobbed.
“I know.”
I paced.
“You almost ended Nora’s pregnancy without telling me.”
“At that time I did not know she was yours.”
“You knew she might be.”
“Yes.”
My hands shook.
I looked at Dr. Levin.
“You knew?”
“She disclosed the appointment after she canceled it.”
“Did you advise her?”
“I advised her that reproductive decisions were hers medically and legally, but that decisions about what to disclose to you regarding the affair and paternity were separate ethical issues.”
I hated how clinical the sentence sounded.
Then realized it had to.
Claire whispered:
“I’m telling you because if we ever try again, you cannot discover another hidden layer later.”
I stared at her.
That was true.
And unbearable.
I left.
Did not speak to Claire for three days except about Nora.
Old Ethan would have disappeared longer.