But she nodded anyway.
What followed were months of emotional wounds layered atop the old ones. Negative test after negative test. Tears cried into pillows. Hope crushed under the weight of grief.
Clara would silently dispose of each test, crawl into bed, and let Martin hold her while the silence filled the spaces where words couldn’t go.
They didn’t tell many people, but those closest to them knew. Amber knew.
And Amber, well—Amber was a woman who treated emotion like an audience. Always watching. Always evaluating.
A Birthday Dinner Turned Ugly
When Clara decided to host a simple family dinner for Martin’s birthday, she tried to keep it light. Just food, cake, and a few familiar faces.
“We’ll keep it simple,” she told Martin. “Dinner, cake. Nothing heavy.”
“Perfect,” he said, grateful but wary.
Jay brought his signature lemon tart. Clara made lamb, rosemary potatoes, and a triple chocolate raspberry cake—Robert’s favorite.
And Amber?
She brought judgment, as usual.
Her teenage son Steven came too, his attention locked on his phone the entire evening.
The meal was quiet but warm. A soft layer of joy settled over the evening. It wasn’t laughter-filled, but it was peaceful—a rare thing for Clara these days.
And then Amber cleared her throat.
The air in the room changed instantly.
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