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I ’ m on cloud nine. No, really—I feel so happy it’s like I’m really walking on air. In fact, I’m practically skipping when I head into the upscale downtown restaurant where I’m meeting Madison for lunch.

She’s waiting just inside the lobby, and when she sees me, she says, “My, don’t you look pretty today.” I have on a lavender sheath dress and cream-colored heels.

“Thanks,” I reply, then, gesturing to her, I say, “You’re looking quite stunning as well.”

Madison is always so put together, and today is no exception. She’s wearing a black pencil skirt with matching Louboutin pumps and a red silk blouse. Her gorgeous blonde locks are in a perfect French braid trailing down her back.

After we’re seated at a table along a painting-lined wall, and the host hands us each a menu, I catch Madison staring at me thoughtfully.

“What?” I ask.

“It’s nothing bad,” she assures me. “It’s just that what I said in the lobby is true. You look really, really great today. But it’s more than your outfit. You have a glow.” She pauses, then just flat-out states, “You look like you had some exceptionally good sex with your husband this morning.”

“As a matter of fact,” I say, grinning, “we totally did.”

It feels so good to finally have a “real” husband and not have to deflect these types of inquiries.

“Okay, okay,” she says, waving her cloth napkin around before placing it on her lap. “I don’t need any details, though. I’ve been in a drought lately. I swear all the good ones are taken. You’re so lucky, Claire.”

After she found out the cheating thing was all a big misunderstanding, Madison was back on Team Easton. But she’s right—I really am lucky. And again, it feels good to have a real marriage with Easton with all the marital benefits, like the amazing sex we really did have this morning.

Oh, and also last night.

And—

“Claire,” Madison says, breaking me from my sex-reverie. “Do you know what you want, or do you need more time?”

When I look up from my menu, I realize the server is waiting for me. She must’ve just asked me the exact same question.

“Oh, crap.” I quickly peruse the selections, but I’m undecided. “I’m sorry,” I say. “Can I have another minute or so, please?”

The young lady smiles and tells me, “Of course. Take your time. I’ll be back over in a few.”

“Thank you.”

As I look over the menu, I ask Madison, “What are you having?”

She says, “The grilled chicken with mixed greens.”

“Oooh, that sounds tasty. I think I’ll get the same thing.”

This time when the server returns, I’m ready. We place our orders, and she walks away.

I then ask Madison, “What do you have planned after lunch?”

After taking a quick sip of ice water, she replies, “I’m showing a nice townhouse over in Scottsdale at two. What about you?”

“I have a check I need to drop off at the children’s hospital. Some of our new corporate sponsors made donations, and I’m matching them.”

“That’s great.” Madison smiles at me. “I love that your foundation has really taken off. It’s for such a good cause too.”

“Thanks, and it really is. Oh, and I forgot to tell you that Easton and I are thinking of starting another charity. This time we’re considering something to help animals in need of care and homes.”

“Aww,” Madison coos. “I love the idea of that one too.”

We talk some more, and when our lunches arrive, we devour them. The grilled chicken is beyond divine. I’m glad I chose it.

Since we have places we need to be, we pay the bill, wrap up with a big hug and a promise to talk soon, and then we go our separate ways.

After my meeting with some of the hospital big shots, who are thrilled with the monetary donations, I decide to go upstairs to check in on Lydia. I kind of want to let her know she was right all along.

I’m hoping it may give her a little joy to hear that and to know I remembered what she said.

But just as I’m about to step into her hospital room, a stern-looking nurse stops me. “Excuse me, ma’am, but you can’t go in there.”

“Oh,” I say, stepping back. I explain, “I know the patient that’s in there. I was just going to stop by and say hi.”

The nurse pshaws. “How do you know the patient? The child in there is only three.”

Confused, I say, “Wait.” I look at the room number again to make sure I’m at the correct spot. When I verify that I am, I ask, “Isn’t this Lydia’s room?”

The nurse’s expression softens. “Oh, I’m sorry. Hasn’t anyone told you?”

I feel sick. “Told me what?” I ask.

Placing her hand on my forearm, she says delicately, “Miss Lydia passed away a week ago.”

“Wait, what?” Tears well in my eyes as I choke out, “No, that can’t be true. Please tell me it’s not.”

Squeezing my arm gently, the nurse says, “I’m sorry. But it’s true.”

I know I’m about to break down, so I just apologize and take off. I want to get home to Easton. He needs to know this awful news as well.

I make it to my car, somehow holding it together.

But once the door is closed, I place my head in my hands and just completely lose it.