That made her smile for the first time. It was small and fleeting, but it changed her face enough to show me what she might have looked like before worry became her constant expression. We sat quietly, two strangers who had found one another through the same lie. Neither of us wanted to be there. Neither of us could pretend the other wasn't real.
When the children finished drawing, Lily brought me a picture of a yellow building with purple windows. She said it was her daddy's restaurant, with flowers outside because her mother liked flowers. I told her she was a talented artist and asked whether she'd like to see the garden behind my house. She nodded eagerly, and Rachel came with us while her little boy walked between us holding a crayon in one fist. For ten minutes we looked at lavender, a small vegetable bed, and the place where I planned to plant another tree in autumn.
I couldn't stop thinking about what James had taken from those children without their knowing. It wasn't only money. It was the feeling that their father's promises were reliable. Lily stood on the path telling me which flowers would attract butterflies, utterly certain the world was full of adults who meant what they said. When Rachel gathered them into the van, I wanted to say something reassuring, but there was nothing honest I could offer that would fit a six-year-old's question. So I waved and promised to keep her drawing safe if she sent another.
Rachel returned to the porch after settling the children into their seats. She told me she had an attorney and intended to proceed carefully. She wasn't asking me to confront James, and she wasn't asking me to share anything she hadn't already documented. She simply wanted me to understand what was happening before Clare transferred money into a business account. Her eyes filled when she said she hoped I would believe her.
"I believe the records," I answered. "And I believe you."
We exchanged numbers and agreed to share relevant information through our lawyers when possible. After her minivan drove away, I stood on the porch watching the empty street until my coffee went cold in my hand. The day before I'd thought my marriage had ended because Clare had found someone who made her feel alive. Now I understood that she had stepped into a much larger story, one James had written before she'd ever walked into that wine tasting. I couldn't save the marriage, but I could still decide whether to warn her about the trap.
After Rachel left, I sat at the kitchen table with the screenshots spread in front of me. I had an ugly thought that I am not proud of, although I won't pretend I didn't have it. I could do nothing. I could let Clare take whatever share of our joint savings she was entitled to, watch her hand it to James, and then wait at Pine Lake for the day his promises collapsed. There was a savage satisfaction in imagining her discovering what she had thrown away. It lasted only until I remembered Lily's little voice describing a restaurant that didn't exist.