“How much?”
“Enough.”
“Oh my God.”
I said nothing.
“Sunday?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“Enough.”
Marta swore softly in German.
Then she switched back to English.
“I’m sorry.”
“For which part?”
Another silence.
“That’s fair.”
“Why did you give Sophie my number?”
“Because Julian is lying to everyone.”
“You knew that before Sunday.”
“I knew some of it.”
“How long have you known about them?”
“About six months.”
I closed my eyes.
“Six months.”
“I thought you knew.”
“No, you didn’t.”
She said nothing.
“You asked Julian at dinner what he planned to tell me.”
“I know.”
“So don’t tell me you thought I knew.”
“You’re right.”
At least she admitted it.
“Why now?”
Marta exhaled.
“Because of what Mom said.”
“About making me raise the baby?”
“Yes.”
“That was the line?”
“I know how awful that sounds.”
“It sounds accurate.”
“I thought Julian was going to leave you.”
“That makes helping him hide an affair better?”
“No.”
“Then what are you asking from me?”
“Nothing.”
Her voice cracked.
“I just wanted you to know Sophie didn’t plan this with them.”
“I already talked to her.”
Another silence.
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“What are you going to do?”
Everyone kept asking me that.
I finally had an answer.
“I’m going to let Julian tell me who he is.”
Marta did not understand.
I wasn’t sure I did either.
The opportunity came that Sunday.
Helga called Julian Saturday morning and invited us for dinner.
I almost refused.
Then I said yes.
Julian looked surprised.
“You feeling okay?”
“Why?”
“You’ve been quiet all week.”
“Work.”
He nodded.
He believed me because believing me was convenient.
Sunday evening, I wore a navy dress Julian had once told me made my eyes look brighter.
I brought a chocolate torte.
Not because Helga deserved dessert.
Because I wanted the evening to feel exactly like all the others until I decided it didn’t.
We arrived at six.
Dieter opened wine.
Marta barely looked at me.
Helga complained that the roast was taking longer than expected.
Julian behaved normally.
For the first hour, nobody mentioned Sophie.
Then Dieter asked Julian in German whether he had “handled the situation.”
Julian glanced toward me.
I was buttering a roll.
“Not yet.”
Helga frowned.
“You cannot wait forever.”
“I know.”
“What does Sophie want?” Dieter asked.
“She’s emotional.”
I nearly smiled at the word.
Marta stared at her plate.
Helga said, “And Claire?”
Julian shrugged.
“She’ll be difficult at first.”
At first.
As if my reaction were a weather delay.
Helga looked toward me.
Then she said in German, “She wants a child so badly. Once the baby is here, she’ll get attached.”
I placed my butter knife down.
Nobody noticed.
Dieter said, “And if she doesn’t?”
Helga answered, “Then Julian will have to remind her what marriage means.”
Marta whispered, “Mom, stop.”
Helga looked annoyed.
“What? She doesn’t understand.”
That was my moment.
Not because it was cinematic.
Because I suddenly felt tired.
Tired of smiling.
Tired of being translated incorrectly inside my own marriage.
Tired of letting them confuse silence with stupidity.
I lifted my wineglass.
Then, in German, I said, “Actually, I understand perfectly.”
Nobody moved.
I have never seen five faces change so quickly.
Helga’s mouth opened.
Dieter stared at me.
Marta closed her eyes.
Julian went completely pale.