Now, here she was—sitting inches away from me. I tried to compose myself, pretending not to notice who she was. But then she turned toward me and spoke my name, slowly, almost as if testing how it felt on her tongue.
“Grace, you’re Oscar’s new wife, right?”
“I recognized you from social media,” she explained. “Oscar has you all over his profile. That was something he didn’t do with me.
But you’re very beautiful, Grace.”
“Thank you,” I replied, my voice thinner than I intended. It hit me then: this was the woman my husband once vowed to spend his entire life with. Sitting next to her felt like sharing a row with a ghost—a piece of his past I never expected to meet, much less be trapped beside for the next three hours.
To my surprise, Clara kept talking. She was warm, friendly even, and chatted easily about the flight. “I’m usually pretty nervous about flying,” she admitted.
“But it’s a help having someone to talk to. I went away because we were celebrating my cousin. Her wedding is coming up, and we surprised her with a bridal shower.”
“That sounds lovely,” I said.
“I’m heading back from visiting my mother. She wasn’t well, and I just wanted to spend a week taking care of her.”
Then—almost casually—Clara dropped her first bombshell. “Did you know that the house you’re living in,” she said lightly, as if discussing the weather, “was supposed to be my house?
