His birthday. Of course.
I stepped further into the light, my hospital bracelet still on my wrist, my face pale and devoid of makeup.
The chatter died instantly.
One by one, heads turned. The music seemed to screech to a halt.
George was standing by the fireplace, a glass of scotch in one hand, his other arm draped possessively around Donna’s waist. She was wearing my favorite red dress.
When he saw me, the color drained from his face. His glass slipped from his fingers and shattered on the marble hearth.
"Eliza?" he choked out.
The silence was deafening.
"Surprised?" I asked, my voice hoarse but steady. I walked into the room, the crowd parting for me like I was a ghost.
"Eliza!" Donna gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in a performance worthy of an Oscar. "Oh my god! You’re… you’re here!"
"What are you doing here?" George hissed, stepping away from Donna, his eyes darting around the room at the confused guests.
"It’s my home, George," I said, stopping a few feet from him. "Can I not be at my own husband's birthday party?"
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"My god, Eliza, you look terrible," Mrs. Vansant whispered, clutching her pearls. "We heard… we heard there was an accident."
"Is the baby okay?" someone else asked.
The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
George’s jaw tightened. He looked at me with a warning in his eyes—a silent command to shut up and play the part.
"They told us you were in critical condition," George said loudly, forcing a strained smile. "That you might not make it. We were… we were just preparing for the worst."
"I’m very much alive," I said, locking eyes with him. "Miraculously."
Donna rushed forward, grabbing my hands. Her skin was warm, her perfume cloying. "Oh, thank god! We were so worried, Eliza! I’ve been crying all evening!"
I looked down at her hands, then back at her face. "You recovered quickly enough to put on my dress, Donna."
She froze, her smile faltering. "I… I didn’t have anything to wear… I rushed over when I heard…"
"Eliza," George cut in, his voice sharp. "You’re clearly in shock. You shouldn't be here. You need rest."
He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising, and steered me toward the stairs. "Excuse us, everyone. My wife needs to lie down."
He dragged me up the stairs and into the master bedroom, slamming the door behind us. The moment the latch clicked, his mask fell.