I talked about the girls. About Max’s mother, Linda, who’d always looked at me like I’d tracked mud on her carpet. About Max’s best friend, Derek, who’d said at our wedding that he gave us five years. About Claire’s whole family, who I’d never met. About how many people would be there. About what I’d say if somebody asked how I was.
Edward drove and listened and didn’t say much.
At a red light, he reached over and put his hand on mine. Just for a second.
“Hannah,” he said. “Breathe.”
I breathed.
“Whatever happens in there,” he said, “you’re walking out with your girls. And me. That’s all that matters.”
“What if he says something?”
“He’s going to say something,” Edward said calmly. “That’s who he is.”
“And what do I do?”
The light turned green. Edward took his hand back and put it on the wheel.
“You let
