“Attention, family. Please.”
The crisp, sharp sound of a silver fork tapping against a wine glass severed my nostalgia. My husband, Jonathan, stood near the fireplace. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, his face slightly flushed from the scotch. The bustling room fell dead silent, every eye turning to the patriarch.
I looked at him with a gentle smile, but Jonathan’s gaze wasn’t on me. His eyes were fixed entirely over my head, staring at the grand mahogany front doors.
“Taking advantage of this joyous day for our son, I also want to announce a great truth to this family,” Jonathan’s voice dropped, resonating heavily in the mute room.
At that exact second, the unmistakable clack-clack of stiletto heels echoed from the marble hallway. A woman drifted into the living room. She appeared to be in her mid-forties, poured into a skin-tight burgundy dress. Her hair was styled in a flawless blowout, her lips painted a predatory red. A suffocating cloud of imported perfume rolled off her, completely masking the aroma of our catered dinner.
The floor seemed to drop out from beneath my heels. It was Valerie Stanton, the owner of an exclusive wellness spa on the Upper East Side. We occasionally crossed paths at the artisanal grocery store, exchanging polite, meaningless smiles.
Jonathan walked swiftly toward her. Under the utterly bewildered stares of my entire family, he proudly grabbed her hand and pulled her against his side.
“Caroline and I are officially getting a divorce.”
A glass slipped from my uncle’s hand, shattering violently against the floorboards. The air in the room instantly flash-froze.
“Jonathan?” I stammered, dragging my trembling legs forward. A cold dread coiled tight in my gut. “Are you drunk? What kind of sick joke is this?”
Jonathan flashed a cruel, reptilian smile—an expression I had never once seen in a quarter-century of marriage. “I am completely sober. The divorce papers are already signed and sitting on my desk. I bought this townhouse with my own money before we wed. Pack your things and be out by Friday.”
“Why?” I shrieked, the tears finally breaking loose. I looked at Connor, who stood near the buffet, unnervingly still. “What happens to Connor? Are you abandoning both of us?”
Valerie leaned her head against Jonathan’s shoulder, brushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek. Her smile made my skin crawl. When she spoke, her voice was coated in venomous sugar.
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