I paused. My chest rose and fell, aching, but I didn’t argue. Arguing was useless. Fighting was pointless. So I nodded and went to do as I was told.
I folded shirts, pressed trousers, and tucked away shoes into suitcases. The rhythm of it almost numbed my thoughts. But Coreen kept darting around me, laughing as she snatched folded clothes and tossed them on the floor.
“Stop that, Coreen,” I said softly.
She ignored me. “So sad you’re gonna be here alone,” she chirped. “Aunt Beatrice said you’re bad. That’s why no one wants you to come.”
The words sliced through me sharper than Oliver’s insults ever had. Even my granddaughter had been poisoned against me. Beatrice’s voice lived in her head, shaping her little heart into one that hated me.
Still, I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t scold. I just kept folding. My hands shook, my tears nearly blinding me, but I kept folding.
Then my gaze drifted to the old cabinet in the corner. Something inside me stirred, and I opened it.
My chest tightened as a memory clawed its way back.
Months ago, I had stood in a boutique, running my hand over that very gown. “It’s beautiful,” I whispered, hesitant but hopeful. “Maybe… maybe I could wear it on our anniversary, Oliver?”
He had frowned instantly. “Are you crazy? That costs too much. We can’t afford luxuries right now, Candice. Be practical.”
I had bitten my lip, embarrassed, but I let it go. I always let it go. I thought he was being responsible, saving money for us.
But a week later, when Beatrice walked through the house with shopping bags, giggling as she held up that same gown in front of her body, I knew. She twirled in front of the mirror, her smile bright, her voice sweet. “Oliver insisted I take it,” she said. “He said I deserved a reward for helping with the business.”
Back then, I swallowed my hurt. I told myself it didn’t matter. That a gown was just fabric and thread. I convinced myself to ignore the way Oliver’s eyes softened when he looked at her, the way he laughed at her joy while mine was always met with silence.
And now, staring at the invitation with my name nowhere on it, reality carved into me like a blade.
It hadn’t been just a gown. It had been the beginning of my replacement.
Now I understood—Oliver hadn’t simply favored Beatrice. He was preparing to dispose of me. To erase me completely from his life.
And he was going to marry her… while I still carried his name.