That was all it took.

A message lit the screen.

Chloe: Can’t wait for tonight.

I looked away before he turned back.

He slipped the phone into his pocket and kissed me goodbye.

“Late again?”

“Probably,” he said. “Back-to-back pitches.”

“Of course.”

At work, Chloe arrived glowing.

She wore cream trousers, a silk blouse, and the engagement ring that flashed every time she moved her hand. Around ten, she leaned over the divider.

“Claire, you have to hear this.”

I looked up.

“David took me to the most amazing omakase place last night. He said we hadn’t had a proper date in weeks.”

My hand stilled over the keyboard.

“That’s sweet.”

“He works too hard, but he always finds a way to make me feel special.”

There it was.

The receipt, given a voice.

By noon, I had stopped wondering whether I was wrong. By five, I followed Chloe from the lobby at a careful distance, standing behind the glass doors while she waited at the curb. A black Audi pulled up. David stepped out, sleeves rolled, face bright with the charm he used when he wanted the world to forgive him before knowing why.

Chloe threw her arms around his neck.

He kissed her hair.

Then he opened the passenger door for her like a gentleman.

I stood less than fifty feet away.

The doorman beside me asked if I needed help getting a cab.

“No,” I said. “I found what I needed.”

That evening, I went to Wicker Park and met Jessica Hayes in our usual corner booth at a quiet coffee shop. Jessica had been my best friend since college and one of the most feared family law attorneys in Chicago. She had the rare gift of listening without making sympathy feel like pity.

I told her everything.