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"Corinne said she was only trying it on. She'll give it back tomorrow."
Gilbert put his phone away, not a trace of alarm on his face.
"After they resized the ring, she helped check the fit for you, that's all. Your fingers are about the same size. I didn't think she'd take a photo of it."
I looked at him. "It's my wedding ring. Why would you let her try it on at all?"
"The clerk brought it to the mall after you'd already left. Corinne just did it as a favor."
"And she happened to slip it onto her ring finger as a favor too?"
Gilbert was silent for two seconds, then reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"I'll have her return it tomorrow. Don't sour the whole relationship over one object."
The same thing again.
When Corinne took my room, my dresses, my admission spot, my parents said the same. It's just one thing.
But none of those things ever came back.
The next evening, Gilbert laid a dark green dress on the edge of the bed.
"Mom said you and Corinne should both wear green, like when you were little."
I glanced at the tag. "This is her size."
"The waist on a dress can be taken in. You're thin, you can wear it even this tight."
He pulled the zipper down for me, his tone so gentle it sounded like he was indulging me. "Tonight is the birthday dinner. Don't make things hard for your parents."
I didn't change into it.
At the hotel, Corinne stood at the door in that dark green dress and came running toward me with a smile.
The white gauze bandage was off her hand now, only a faint red line left on her fingertip, and yet my wedding ring was still on her ring finger.
"Faith, how did your foot get this bad? It's all my fault, keeping Gilbert out so late."
She crouched down to touch my cast, and Gilbert caught her by the shoulder first.
"Don't crouch. Your blood sugar's low."
Corinne straightened up against him and lifted her hand to explain. "I forgot to take the ring off. You're not angry, are you, Faith?"
Our mother came over and pressed her hand back down.
"Keep it on. Give it back after dinner. Your sister's been married three years already. A few more hours won't hurt."
I looked at Gilbert.
He avoided my eyes and pulled out a chair for me. "Sit first."
Partway through the meal, my father had a waiter bring over a document envelope.
"Since Corinne's back, she'll join Gilbert's company as design director. Faith, hand the Skyhaven project over to her for now. Sisters should help each other out."
Skyhaven was a project I'd fought two years to land.
The first draft was rejected nineteen times. For three straight months I slept four hours a night, and only then did the client finally sign.
I gripped my glass. "She studied acting. She doesn't know the first thing about architectural design."
Corinne's eyes reddened at once.
"Dad, I said all along I didn't want it. Faith put so much into this project. I can't take what's hers."
My father's face darkened. "Take? All she's doing is giving you the lead designer credit. No one said you'd stop doing the actual work."
My mother pressed me too. "Corinne's only been back three months. She needs one solid project to her name. You've already married so well. You don't have to come first at everything."
I turned to Gilbert. "Is that what you think too?"
He set his chopsticks down, unhurried.
"Your foot is hurt. You need rest. Corinne will be the public face for now, but you'll still handle the real work, and I'll pay you your bonus as usual."
"She takes the credit, I do the work?"
"It's just one line of a name."
"Then why can't that line be mine?"
The private room went quiet.
Corinne pressed a hand to her chest, her face going pale by degrees. "Faith, don't be upset. I'll give the project back to you."
She stood up too fast, and her body swayed.
Gilbert caught her at once.
My mother shoved aside the crutch I had propped by my hand. "Do you have to push her like this?"
I lost my balance and dropped hard back into the chair, my injured right foot knocking against the table leg, the pain blacking out my vision.
Gilbert steadied Corinne, and when he turned and saw me, something like hesitation crossed his eyes.
Corinne clutched at his sleeve. "Gilbert, I can't breathe."
He bent down, lifted her into his arms, and strode for the door.
As he passed me, he left only a hurried line behind. "I'm taking her to the hospital. Stop provoking her."
My father pushed the document across the table to me.
"Sign it."
I picked up the pen.
My mother's face eased at last. "That's more like it. You're the older sister. A little sense won't hurt you."
I signed my name on the last page of the project transfer document, but I didn't hand it to my father.
Instead I turned to the appendix and added a date after the credit-authorization deadline.
Seven days.
Seven days from now was the day the Winfields would formally sign with the client.
It was also the day I would hand in my resignation.
My mother reached out to take it. I closed the envelope.
Just then Corinne's phone, left behind on her seat, lit up, a prenatal checkup reminder popping onto the screen.
Twelve weeks pregnant.
