Lyle added without blinking, “Too bad you weren’t there. Oh wait—yeah. You were left behind. Guess you looked too much like our maid.”
The room exploded with laughter. Even Edmund. Even my son. Even Loisa, wiping tears from her eyes.
Elizabeth just sipped her coffee and said cheerfully, “Don’t worry, Doris. I’ll leave some of my old dresses in your closet. And some perfume. They’re a little tight on me now, but I think you can squeeze in.”
Edmund chuckled, not even looking at me. “You can dress a corpse in Versace—it’s still a corpse. She still smells like disappointment.”
Loisa practically screamed laughing. Nash and Lyle clapped each other like it was a roast battle.
And me?
I picked up their dirty plates. I washed them one by one. I stared out the window at the neighbor’s lemon tree, blooming.
They think this is the end. But they haven’t seen what I look like when I stop begging to belong.
---
That night, when the laughter died and the wine ran out and the house went still, I crept into the living room. I stood there staring at it again.
The portrait. Massive. Hung dead-center in the sala like a crown jewel.
Lester made a whole production out of placing it there. Right above the console table. Right where no one could miss it. Where guests would pause and admire the happy family and say, “What a beautiful household you have.”
A lie, printed in high gloss.
I didn’t even hear Edmund come in until he was behind me.
“What, jealous again?” His voice always sounded rougher when he was bored. “You stare at that thing like it’s gonna cry for you.”
I didn’t answer. What was the point?
He scoffed. “Damn, Doris. If I could turn back time… I swear, I would’ve left your sorry ass back in the province. Should’ve married Elizabeth from the start. She’s better than you in every goddamn way. Classy. Successful. Knows how to run a business. Knows how to shut up.”
I turned away, still quiet.
That’s when he kicked me.
Right in the knee. My leg buckled, and I dropped with a thud I was too tired to even gasp at. The floor met me like an old friend. Cold. Familiar.
The tears came without permission. Warm and humiliating. Not because of the pain. No. I think it was because of the sound of him walking away like I wasn’t even there.
“Enough drama,” he muttered. “You’re too old for this shit.”
Then his phone rang.
I could still hear my breath catching in my chest when he answered it.