The group roared with laughter.
Tears blurred my vision until the room swam. My knees buckled, and the envelope slipped from my fingers, landing on the carpet with a muffled thud.
Someone outside shifted. “What was that noise?”
My heart lurched. I shoved the envelope under a coat, pushed open the back door, and stumbled into the freezing night air.
The December wind cut through my thin dress. The city glittered in the distance, but my chest felt hollow, scraped raw.
I walked without direction, each step heavier than the last, until the banquet hall’s golden lights disappeared. Finally, I found myself on the pedestrian bridge over the river. The water churned black and restless, moonlight splintering on its surface.
My hands gripped the railing. The metal was icy under my palms.
One step, I thought. One step, and it would all be quiet. No more humiliation. No more aching silence when he came home late, smelling of someone else’s perfume. No more pretending not to notice how often Claire “just happened” to call during dinner.
One step, and the ache inside me would finally stop.
A car sped past, headlights sweeping across me. The driver honked and shouted: “Lady, are you insane? Get away from the edge!”
The words pierced my fog. My breath caught. Slowly, trembling, I let go of the railing.
My legs gave out, and I sank onto the cold pavement, hugging myself as sobs tore out of me. There was no child to anchor me, no family to come running—only me. And somehow, impossibly, that would have to be enough.
By the time I reached the townhouse, hours had passed. My heels clicked dully against the floorboards as I stepped inside, the silence pressing in like a suffocating blanket.
The door to the study opened, and there he was, loosening his tie, looking as if nothing had happened.
“Evelyn,” Matthew said, his tone laced with casual disappointment. “You couldn’t even bother showing up for my birthday dinner? Do you know how that makes me look?”
My lips parted, but no words came.
He didn’t pause. “Claire’s back in town. She’s hosting a brunch tomorrow. Don’t make things awkward. She’s been trying to help you patch things up with your parents for years—the least you can do is show her some appreciation.”
I stared at him, numb. The same lips that had just kissed Claire were now issuing me instructions.
“Yes,” I whispered.