Her name was Clara.

I knew that name. I’d seen her face in the old wedding photos my husband, Oscar, once kept — his ex-wife.

Back when I moved in with Oscar, he’d offered to pack those photos away. “You can look through them before I put them in the basement,” he had said casually. “Just waiting to see if Clara wants them.” I thought nothing of it at the time. But now, here she was, sitting right beside me — and things were about to unravel fast.

“Grace, right? Oscar’s new wife?”

Those were the first words she said to me.

I just nodded. I was too stunned to speak. It was one thing to recognize her — but how did she know me?