Chapter 8 - Vivian's Version of the Truth| Vivian expected Adrian to call her once he returned home.
Instead, he spent two days trying to reach Claire.
He called her phone repeatedly, contacted her mother, and sent messages through their mutual friends. When none of those efforts worked, he began calling Vivian again.
She answered on the third attempt.
“Adrian?”
“Did you know she was leaving?”
Vivian sat upright on the sofa in her apartment.
“What?”
“Claire. Did she say anything to you at the funeral?”
“No. Why would she?”
“Because she's gone.”
Vivian closed her eyes.
Part of her had expected Claire to confront them. She had imagined shouting, accusations, perhaps a scene in the reception room that would force Adrian to choose between them.
She had not imagined Claire disappearing.
“Maybe she needs time,” Vivian said.
“Time?”
“She lost her daughter.”
“So did I.”
The words came out sharply.
Vivian flinched.
“I know.”
“No, you don't. You don't know what it feels like to wake up and discover your wife has left you with a note.”
“Adrian, I didn't make Claire leave.”
He went silent.
Vivian heard him breathing.
Then he asked, “What exactly did you tell her?”
“I didn't speak to her.”
“At the funeral. What did you say?”
Vivian's stomach tightened.
She remembered the half-open door, though she hadn't known Claire was nearby. She remembered telling Adrian that she had been afraid of missing the flight, that she had pressured him to hurry.
And she remembered the sentence he had spoken afterward.
Maybe she just wasn't meant to stay.
At the time, she had thought he was expressing despair. Now she wondered whether Claire had heard him.
“Adrian,” she said carefully, “did Claire overhear us?”
“I don't know.”
“You need to find out.”
“Why?”
“Because if she heard everything, she may tell people about the trip.”
Adrian's voice turned cold.
“Our daughter is dead, Vivian. Is that what you're worried about?”
“No. I'm worried about what happens if people decide we caused it.”
“We did not cause the accident.”
“We were driving toward the airport because I kept telling you we were going to miss the flight.”
“You didn't control the car.”
“But I pressured you.”
“And I chose to drive.”
The admission silenced them both.
For the first time, Adrian had said aloud what he had avoided since the crash.
He had been behind the wheel.
He had chosen the route.
He had accelerated.
Vivian began to cry.
“I never wanted Sophie to get hurt.”
“Neither did I.”
“Then why did you say that at the funeral?”
Adrian's voice broke.
“I don't know.”
But he did know one thing: he had said it because the truth was too painful to face. If Sophie had not been meant to stay, then perhaps her death was not the consequence of a decision he had made.
Perhaps it was fate.
Perhaps it was anything other than his responsibility.
Vivian wiped her face.
“Adrian, we need to agree on what we're going to say if the police ask about the trip.”
He stared at the phone.
“What?”
“The trip. The flight. The reason we were on that road. We can't keep changing the story.”
He heard the fear in her voice.
He also heard the familiar instinct to protect herself first.
For years, he had mistaken that instinct for loyalty.
Now he understood how little he knew about the woman he had chosen over his family.
“I'm not lying to the police,” he said.
Vivian stopped crying.
“Then you're going to destroy us both.”
Adrian ended the call.
For several seconds, he sat with the phone in his hand.
He had spent years protecting Vivian from consequences, telling himself he was protecting a relationship that mattered.
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Now Claire was gone, Sophie was dead, and Vivian was asking him to protect her again.
For the first time, he wondered whether the woman he had risked his marriage for had ever loved him—or whether she had simply learned that he would do almost anything to keep her from leaving.
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