Chapter 6: The Other Family

Everything felt surreal, like I’d stepped into a parallel universe. I pinched my cheek hard—it hurt. Not a dream.

I pushed open the door.

Instead of the cozy, lived-in vibe I expected, the place looked less like a living room and more like a set from The Crown—way too fancy for real life. Crystal chandeliers, mahogany paneling, massive oil paintings, and high-backed chairs out of Downton Abbey.

My heart dropped. I’d seen this room before—on Nathan’s video calls during "client dinners." He’d always said it was a client’s house.

A broken laugh slipped out, echoing weirdly off the wood-paneled walls.

I scanned the space like a detective. The bathroom door was open. On the toilet lid, my handmade red scarf—Nathan’s—was looped around the seat, tied like a handle. My stomach lurched.

Upstairs, the master bedroom was huge—California King Plus, as if custom made. A black lace nightgown from La Perla lay across the pillow. The closet was filled with men’s clothes in Nathan’s favorite brands, even the purple Hermès tie I’d given him for Christmas. His-and-hers toothbrushes, towels, and a razor with dark whisker stubble still caught in the blades.

The silence was heavy, pressing on my chest. Even the distant sounds of suburbia seemed muted.

I was stuck, time moving thick and slow.

I don’t know how long I stood there before voices floated up the stairs.

"Are you really not eating? I made your favorite—that pasta with truffle oil."

"I’ll shower and leave. I need to be home by seven. You know this."

Terror spiked through me. I bolted to the balcony, crouching in the corner, hiding like a child from monsters.

In the glass, I saw two faces reflected in the fading light.

Nathan.

Lauren.

My Nathan. Mousy, ordinary Lauren.

I hugged my knees, holding myself together.

Nathan methodically removed his coat, suit, and watch—the Patek I’d given him. Lauren hovered nearby, her voice soft.

"Why don’t you stay later tonight? Just this once?"

Nathan’s voice was cold, all business. "You’re overstepping."

Lauren bit her lip, then whispered, "But today—you enjoyed it, didn’t you? I could tell."

He hesitated, unbuttoning his shirt. Lauren’s hand slid inside, practiced and familiar.

"When she was there, you didn’t finish, did you? I heard you groaning. Do you want to finish properly before your shower? I can be quick."

Their moans and gasps spilled from the bedroom—sounds I knew, sounds that were mine. Outside, white flakes drifted down, silent and impossible. It never snowed in the Bay Area, not even in December. But outside, white flakes drifted down, silent and impossible.

I stared, numb, as if I was being lifted out of my own body, floating away from the pain.

I couldn’t rush in. I was too afraid—afraid of what I’d see, afraid the disgust would haunt me forever.

I didn’t even have the strength to leave. My legs were useless.

Mom once said I think too much and act too little. She was right about me, but wrong about Nathan. We all were.

Snow muffled the world. Lauren emerged in a sheer nightgown, looking blissed out and transformed. "Thump thump thump"—footsteps came from the stairs.

A Latina woman in an apron led a little boy upstairs. "Mama! Auntie brought Tyler home from preschool!"

Lauren scooped up the boy, her whole demeanor softening.

The bedroom door opened. Nathan walked out, showered and changed—how many identical outfits did he keep here?

The little boy looked up, eyes the same blue as Nathan’s. He smiled. "Daddy!" he shouted. My world shattered.