(Clara's POV)

Julian glanced at Serena, then back at me, his expression perfectly composed.

"Just a coincidence," he said. "Same name. Clara's just an office worker." He paused, then added with a casual shrug, "Though honestly, sharing a name with someone on your team is probably the most exciting thing that's happened to her."

I didn't react.

Serena's smile stayed in place, but something shifted behind her eyes. A flicker of distaste, quick and private.

"What kind of project is it?" I asked her. "The one with the other Clara?"

Julian's brow furrowed immediately. "It's confidential. Not something you need to ask about."

"Confidential," I repeated. "And yet half the people in this corridor were discussing it freely ten minutes ago. I could hear them from the waiting area."

"Clara." His voice dropped, a warning in it. "Don't start."

"I'm not starting anything. I'm asking a question."

Serena tilted her head slightly, then said, in a soft and careful tone, "Julian, I still can't believe you actually got married. I genuinely thought you were joking when I heard. If I'd known you were serious, I would have flown back for the wedding. I really would have."

The corridor went quiet around us.

I watched Julian's hand. He was holding his phone at his side, and his fingers tightened around it slowly, the knuckles going pale.

That was when it came back to me. Our wedding night. Julian had sat at the edge of the bed in his dress shirt, still holding his phone, drunk enough that his eyes couldn't quite focus. He'd been crying. Not loudly-just tears sliding down his face while he stared at the screen, waiting for something that never came.

I had thought, at the time, that he was overwhelmed. Emotional. That it meant something.

Now I understood what he'd been waiting for.

He'd married me so she would see it. Four years of marriage, and I had been the prop. The message. The thing he used to get her attention.

I stood there and felt something go quiet inside me. Not dramatic. Just-gone.

We moved to Beatrice's room.

She lit up the moment Serena walked in, reaching out to grab her hands, asking if she was tired, if she'd eaten, if the drive over had been awful. Her voice was warm and bright in a way I had never once heard her use with me.

Then she turned to me.

"Clara, there are apples on the tray. Peel one for me."

Serena made a small gesture, as if to stand. "I can-"

"No." Julian put his hand on Serena's wrist, gentle but firm. "Your hands are for lab work. You shouldn't be doing this kind of thing."

His eyes moved to me as he said it.

I picked up the apple.

Two years ago, Julian had been going through a phase where nothing appealed to him, and he'd barely been eating. I'd spent three weekends teaching myself how to prepare food in a way that actually looked worth eating-the kind of careful plating that might catch the eye of someone who'd already pushed three meals away.

I looked down at the apple in my hand.

Then I bit into it.

I chewed, set it back on the tray, and looked at Julian.

"You give me three thousand dollars a month for the entire household," I said. "Just so we're all on the same page. The victim's family outside is going to want compensation. You should figure out where that's coming from, because it's not coming from me."

The room went very still.

Serena left first.

Julian stood immediately, already reaching into his jacket. He pulled out a bank card and held it out to me.

"Stay and sort it out," he said. "I'll handle the other thing."

I didn't take the card.

I stepped back, just slightly, and looked at him.

He waited. When I didn't move, he set the card on the tray beside the half-eaten apple, turned, and walked out with Serena.

I left the hospital not long after.

I didn't plan to see them again that night. But when I reached my building, they were still there-standing near the entrance, Julian leaning against the wall, Serena facing him.

I stopped in the shadow of the doorway.

"Go back up," Serena was saying. "She's been waiting. You should be with her."

Julian made a dismissive sound and waved his hand. "She's fine. She's just a housewife. Waiting around is basically what she does." He paused. "She's not like you."

I stood there for a moment.

Then I went around to the side entrance.

Serena's voice drifted over, thoughtful and quiet.

"Four years, though. And no children. How come?"

I stopped.

I had wanted children. I'd wanted them badly enough that I used to rehearse how I'd bring it up, testing different approaches in my head, trying to find the version Julian wouldn't shut down immediately. But he always had a reason. Too busy. Wrong time. He didn't particularly like kids.

I had believed him. I had thought that was just who he was.

"I don't know," Julian said. He wasn't looking at her.

Serena was quiet for a moment. Then she said, slowly, like she was remembering something from a long time ago, "You told me once that I was the only person you'd ever want to have children with."

She looked at him then. A soft look. Brief.

Then she turned and walked away.

Julian didn't move. He stood at the entrance and watched her go, watched until she turned the corner and disappeared, and then he kept standing there.

I turned and walked away too.

(Author's POV)

Julian came back to the hospital room to find Clara's chair empty.

Beatrice was reclining against her pillows, scrolling through her phone. She glanced up when he walked in.

"She left," Beatrice said. "Honestly, Julian, just divorce her. She's so calculating. Always watching what she spends, never generous. She doesn't fit with us."

Julian said nothing for a moment. Then, flatly, "She's been managing the entire household on three thousand a month. I'm not sure calculating is the right word."

"She's still wrong for you."

He didn't argue. But he also knew-without saying it aloud-exactly where the rest of his money had been going. Close to eighty percent of his private funds had been quietly redirected over the past four years, channeled into Serena's research projects. He hadn't told his parents. He wasn't going to.

Richard and Margaret arrived shortly after, and spent the next twenty minutes telling him to spend more time with Serena. To not let the opportunity pass. Julian nodded at the appropriate moments and said very little.

He drove home alone.

The apartment was dim when he let himself in. He pushed open the bedroom door.

The bathroom door was ajar. Through the gap, he could see Clara at the counter, a blow dryer humming in her hand, a thin slip of a nightgown clinging to her from the steam. The fabric was pale, almost translucent at the edges, and it traced the line of her shoulders, her waist, the curve of her hip with quiet precision.

Julian stopped in the doorway.

He didn't move.

"Clara-"