I turned the fruit knife over in my hand, then reached for a pear and began peeling it, slow and deliberate, one long spiral at a time.
Once upon a time, Elliot and I had dated for four years before walking down the aisle.
My family and I had poured every dollar and every ounce of effort into propping him up, launching his career to heights he never could have reached alone.
Then, on our fourth wedding anniversary, a new secretary joined his company.
Gladys Fox.
From that point on, he came home later and later. Midnight became three in the morning, and three in the morning became not at all.
My son and I huddled together in that empty house, clinging to each other. Until the day my boy was diagnosed with leukemia.
Throughout all those rounds of chemotherapy at the hospital, Elliot never visited. Not once.
The only time he showed up was while I was overseas on business. He walked into that hospital room and pulled the plug on our son's ventilator.
I rushed back from abroad, desperate, frantic, but I didn't even get to see my child's body. All that was left for me was a handful of ashes that scattered the moment the wind touched them.
And Elliot—the devoted husband in everyone else's eyes—had spent the day of our son's funeral in a hotel room with his secretary.
The memory surged through me. I looked down at the pear in my hand, saw Elliot's face, and drove the knife straight into it.
If today weren't such a special occasion, I would have buried that blade in the bastard's chest without a second thought. Without mercy.
Elliot watched me seething in silence, and he laughed again. In his eyes, I was nothing but a Farley household servant. Even if I wanted to lay a hand on him, I wouldn't dare.
I turned to leave. My plan was to wait until the gala wrapped up, then settle the score with this disgusting pair properly.
But before I could take a step, a little boy came running at me and hurled something straight in my direction.
"You evil woman! What are you trying to do to my mommy and daddy!"
Something sharp sliced across my neck. I felt a thin line of cold, and when I reached up to touch it, my fingers came away red. Blood.
Elliot and Gladys's kid stood in front of me with his hands on his hips, chin jutted out in that insufferable way that was a carbon copy of his father.
Something clattered to the floor. I looked down and finally saw what it was: a small pair of scissors.