A Woman Scorned: The Return Of Aretha Hawthorne

I have to admit that today sets the bars high as one of the happiest days of my life and this fact is palpable in the wide grin that has remained a constant on my face throughout the entire day. It’s my husband’s birthday today but more than that, today is the day I finally reveal the news I have been struggling to keep hidden ever since I found out earlier this week. I am five weeks pregnant. After three years of being married to Daniel and trying constantly for a child, we are finally going to be parents. I cannot wait to share this news with him later today; it’s sure to make his already happy day even more joyous and perhaps even help to mend the strain in our marriage because no matter how much he’s tried to hide it, I’m not blind to the fact that my husband hasn’t been entirely faithful to me. But I’m honestly hoping the news of our unborn baby will change this. “If you keep smiling and rubbing your stomach like that, someone’s going to know something is up.” The familiar voice startles me out of my thoughts and I look up to see Stella, my foster sister, approaching me where I’m seated before my vanity mirror. She shoots me a pointed look, her eyebrow arching at the sight of my hand, which continues to caress my stomach unconsciously, and with a sheepish smile, I raise the hand and rest it on my dressing table instead. “Sorry,” I mumble. My best friend, foster sister and foster mother are the only ones I’d told about my pregnancy because honestly, I was too elated to keep the news all to myself and telling it to them had saved me from blurting it out to Daniel during this past week. Stella hums, perching her bum on the edge of the table as she passes me one of the two mugs she has in her grasp. “I honestly wonder how you’ve managed to keep it a secret for this long. Danny must be so oblivious to not notice the signs.” A blush paints my cheeks as I chuckle at my sister’s words, lifting the cup of hot coffee to my mouth before blowing air into it. “I’m not that bad at keeping secrets, Stel.” She hums noncommittally, sipping from her own cup. “Why, certainly. You’re as good at it as you are at choosing the right outfit for the right occasion.” She scrutinizes what she can see of my body in my seated position over the rim of her cup, her top lip curling in distaste, making me bristle as that familiar feeling of insecurity washes over me. My supermodel of a foster sister and retired actress of a foster mother always do this—judging my fashion sense and not hesitating to criticize my outfit choices for every occasion, even the ones they don’t attend with my husband and I, and this has made me doubt my ability to dress myself up because obviously, if they think I’m lacking and not attractive enough, then Daniel definitely also thinks the same. And I can’t have that, so I do my best to take their advice. However, I had genuinely thought this outfit I had chosen specially for my husband’s birthday celebration would earn their approval. I had even roped my best friend into helping me decide, seeking fashion advice from her but like always, it apparently still didn’t match up to Stella’s standards. “What’s wrong with it?” I ask, looking at my image in the mirror and assessing the outfit I’d donned, thinking it makes the golden glint in my amber eyes pop, brings some prominence to my thick and full hair cascading down my back in raven waves, and makes my pale skin look flawless for once, rather than sickly. My outfit is a loosely form-fitting evening dress consisting of cream ivory silk fabric used for the dress and a similarly hued tulle material used to make the elegant puff sleeves. The bodice of the midi dress contains a corset that makes it merge like a second skin to my waist and flat stomach region, bringing out the slight curve there as it connects to my hips. Over all, I’d thought the dress was classy yet modest enough that it doesn’t steal the spotlight off my husband tonight as today is his day. But Stella seems to think otherwise because she pinches the fabric of my sleeve between her thumb and index finger, disapproval written all over her heavily made-up face. “Seriously, Aretha? You couldn’t do better than this?” She says, flicking the fabric away and rubbing her fingers together like it had left a stain on them. “You’re lucky Mom is not here to see this. She’d have ripped it off of you on sight.” “But what’s wrong with it, Stel? I thought it made me look good?” She snickers in mockery, taking a sip of her coffee before setting down the cup on my table and rising to her feet. “If looking good translates to you looking like a fake ghost on a movie set, then yes, Retha, you look absolutely stunning.” Trying not to wince at her words, I look into the mirror again, scanning my appearance but I find that the reflection of me I’d previously loved and thought was flawless is the same one I can only now spot nothing but flaws in. It takes an effort to not curl into myself. My voice is small, vulnerable and unsure when I try to argue back. “But Kristen said—” “Oh, when are you going to stop being so foolish and thoughtlessly doing everything that girl tells you to do, Retha? Who earns a fortune from being a fashionista, her or me?” The answer is obvious. “You.” “Exactly. So who better to take fashion advice from than me? Free advice for that matter. Other people would kill for this golden opportunity you don’t seem to value, Retha.” Feeling absolutely deflated and uncomfortable in my own skin, I set down my half-filled cup of coffee beside Stella’s, angling my body to the side to avoid looking at my reflection in the mirror. “So what do you suggest I do now? It’s too late to start shopping for another dress.” “Unfortunately.” Stella hums thoughtfully, tapping a well manicured finger against her chin as she ponders. “But who says you have to go shopping when I recently sent you a pile of my beautiful clothes after my last spree.” Her old clothes? Stella doesn’t really expect that I’d wear one of her hand-me-down dresses to an occasion as important as this one, does she? Besides, more than them being secondhand clothes, most of my foster sister’s dresses, if not all, are revealing in one way or another. Plus, with her having a svelte frame in opposition to my slightly more voluptuous body, wearing one of her clothes is sure to cause me more discomfort than good. I open my mouth to try to reason with her but her voice overshadows mine as she claps once, her eyes glinting in triumph. “Ah-ha! I know the perfect dress for you to wear. Remember the stained glass dress I wore to the premiere of the movie Jared Molloy starred in? It would be absolutely perfect for you!” My stomach drops at the memory of the aforementioned dress because not only does it appear as though I wouldn’t be able to breathe freely in it, but it’s also revealing and wearing it only ensures that my plan to not outshine my husband tonight goes down the drain. “But isn’t it too flashy, Stel? I would be too conspicuous.” My sister groans, shaking her head at me. “That’s the point, Aretha! Your presence should be known there and this striking dress is sure to achieve that. You’re his wife, for f**k’s sake! A Berfield! Hell, anyone would kill to live your life and yet, you’re wasting such an opportunity again!” Now feeling the complete opposite of how I’d felt earlier, I look down at my hands in my lap, trying to swallow past the lump lodged in my throat and to suppress the churning sensation in my stomach. The memory of when I once overheard my husband refer to me as boring to one of his friends, whom he’d been speaking to on the phone, returns to the forefront of my mind. I would do anything to keep Daniel from straying from our marriage and if coming further out of my shell (or being less ‘boring’) would achieve that, then I’m ready to do it. Ready to do anything to ensure that my unborn child is born into a happy and complete family, even if it means disregarding my own comforts. This is the sole reason why I swallow down my unease and look up at Stella, who apparently had been glaring down at me, ignoring how she quickly tries to even out her expression into a soft look. “I guess you’re right.” I say simply and watch as her countenance morphs into a pleased one. “Now, we’re talking. Drink up your coffee while I go find the dress.” I shoot an unsure look at the beverage, the sight of it making my churning stomach even more uneasy. “I think I’ve had enough—” “Don’t you even dare, Aretha. You know I’m not gonna let you eat much at the party because you honestly need to start taking your diet seriously. Now that you’re pregnant, you’re gonna gain some more weight and we can’t have you looking obese. For the sake of Danny’s image, OK?” With every word that leaves Stella’s lips, I’m overwhelmed with the urge to hide myself from her as she brutally picks my body apart flaw by ugly flaw, but she doesn’t give me the chance to do that as she extends my cup of coffee to me, forcing me to take it. She watches patiently, standing with her hands akimbo, until I’ve drained every last drop of it regardless of the bile rising up my throat then she nods with an inexplicable smile, seemingly satisfied. “Good girl. Now, let’s find that beautiful dress.” She says and finally shifts her attention from me as she wanders into my walk-in closet. “Trust me Danny won’t be able to take his eyes off of you when he sees you in that dress and everyone will recognize you as a Berfield through and through. As always, you will definitely not regret taking fashion advice from me, Retha.”