She moved across the room with measured confidence, avoiding my eyes. She went straight to Marcus and stood beside him, her hand hovering inches from his.
“This is Camille,” Marcus announced, his voice steady now. “She means a great deal to me. And we’re expecting a child together.”
My heart seemed to stop.
For several seconds, no one reacted. Then my mother gasped and clutched her chest. Iris stared at Marcus, stunned. His parents looked as if they had been struck.
Jacob dropped his fork, the clang echoing like an alarm.
Emma’s hand gripped mine under the table, her fingers digging into my skin.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.
Marcus stood there, composed, as if he hadn’t detonated a bomb in the center of our home.
Iris spoke first, rising so quickly her chair nearly toppled.
“What are you doing, Marcus?” Her voice shook. “How could you bring her here? To your wife? Your children?”
Camille glanced downward briefly, uncertain whether to smile or shrink away. But she remained by his side.
Marcus ignored his sister and addressed the room with a shrug.