Uncle Damian, I'm Yours

Ariana I smoothed down the emerald silk dress one more time, checking my reflection in the hallway mirror. The color brought out my eyes, or at least that's what the boutique assistant had promised when I'd spent half my monthly salary on it three weeks ago. Tonight had to be perfect. Tonight would fix everything. "You look beautiful," I whispered to myself, practicing the smile I'd wear all evening. The one that said I'm fine, we're fine, everything is perfect. The restaurant was exactly the kind of place the Sterlings loved. All crystal chandeliers and white tablecloths, where the waiters moved like ghosts and the prices weren't printed on the menu. I spotted them immediately at the large circular table near the window. Ethan's mother, Margaret, sat at the center like a queen holding court. His sister Victoria was beside her, and his brother James across from them. And next to James sat her. Cassandra Montgomery, with her perfect blonde waves and that smile that never quite reached her eyes. "Ariana." Ethan appeared at my elbow, his hand barely grazing my back. No kisses. No warmth. "You made it." "Of course I made it. It's your promotion dinner." I kept my voice light, bright. "I'm so proud of you." He didn't respond, just guided me to the table. I took the only empty seat, which happened to be as far from Ethan as possible, sandwiched between his uncle Richard who smelled like cigars and his cousin who immediately turned away to talk to someone else. "Well." Margaret's voice cut through the chatter. "I suppose we can start now that everyone's here." Everyone. As if I'd been late. As if I hadn't arrived exactly on time. I reached for my water glass and caught Cassandra watching me. She smiled, the kind of smile that said she knew something I didn't. The first course arrived. I complimented the presentation. No one responded. "Ethan, darling," Margaret said, ignoring me completely, "Cassandra was just telling us about her charity gala next month. Such important work. The kind of thing that really elevates a family's standing." "It sounds wonderful," Ethan replied, and I watched him smile at Cassandra the way he used to smile at me. Before the late nights at the office. Before the cold silences. Before I became invisible in my own marriage. "Ariana." Victoria's voice dripped with false sweetness. "That's such an interesting dress. Very... bold." "Thank you." I forced brightness into my tone. "I wanted tonight to be special." "Oh, it will be," James said, and something in his voice made my stomach tighten. The dinner crawled forward like torture. Every attempt I made at conversation hit a wall. Every smile I offered returned as ice. They talked around me, through me, as if I were a ghost haunting their celebration. "Remember when Ethan dated that actress?" Margaret laughed, her wine glass catching the light. "Now that would have been a match. Beauty, talent, connections." "Mother," Ethan said, but there was no real protest in it. "I'm just saying." Margaret dabbed her lips with her napkin. "Some women are meant for this life. They understand it. They fit." My hands trembled in my lap. I dug my nails into my palms, using the pain to keep the tears at bay. "Cassandra certainly fits," Victoria added, reaching over to squeeze Cassandra's hand. "Don't you think, Ethan?" He didn't answer. Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a thick manila envelope. The table went quiet. Everyone seemed to lean forward slightly, like they'd been waiting for this moment. "Ariana," Ethan said, his voice flat and businesslike. The same voice he used with his secretary. "We need to talk." He slid the envelope across the table. It landed in front of my untouched entrée with a soft thud that somehow echoed in my ears. "What is this?" My voice came out smaller than I intended. "Open it." My fingers shook as I picked up the envelope, as I pulled out the papers inside. The words blurred together at first, then sharpened into focus with devastating clarity. Petition for Dissolution of Marriage. "You're divorcing me." It wasn't a question. "Here? Now? In front of everyone?" "It seemed efficient," Margaret said, taking a sip of her wine. "No need to drag these things out." I looked around the table, waiting for someone to object, to show even a flicker of discomfort. Instead, I found satisfaction. Victoria was smiling. James nodded approvingly. Even Cassandra had the decency to pretend to look away, but I caught the triumph in her eyes. "You all knew." The realization crashed over me. "This whole dinner, you all knew." "Ariana, don't make a scene," Ethan said quietly. "A scene?" I stood so fast my chair scraped against the floor. Several nearby diners turned to look. "You hand me divorce papers at your promotion dinner and tell me not to make a scene?" "We tried to make this work," Margaret said, her voice tinged with false sympathy. "But honestly, dear, you were never quite right for this family. We only accepted you because, well, Ethan needed someone, and you were... available." The words hit like physical blows. Available. As if I were a convenience store instead of his wife. As if the three years I'd spent loving him, supporting him, reshaping myself to fit his world meant nothing. "I loved you," I whispered to Ethan. He looked at me with eyes that held no emotion at all. "I know. That was never the problem." I didn't remember leaving the restaurant. One moment I was standing at that table, the next I was on the sidewalk, the cool night air hitting my face. My phone buzzed with notifications. Bank alerts. My accounts were frozen. Our accounts. His accounts now, apparently. I tried my credit card at a cab stand. Declined. Blocked. I called Ethan. Straight to voicemail. By the time I reached our building, a different lock gleamed on our door. Our home, where I'd lived for three years, was suddenly as inaccessible as a stranger's house. Everything I owned was on the other side of that door. My clothes, my photos, my life. I walked without direction until I found myself standing outside a bar. The neon sign flickered red and blue, and through the window, I could see it was nearly empty. Perfect. The whiskey burned going down. So did the second one. By the third, the edges of the world had softened enough that I could almost pretend this wasn't happening. "Another," I told the bartender, my voice rough. I was reaching for the glass when someone slid onto the stool beside me. I caught the scent of expensive cologne, and felt the presence of someone tall, substantial. "You shouldn't cry over a man who doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as you." The voice was deep, dark, with an edge that made something in my chest tighten. I looked up, ready to tell whoever it was to leave me alone, but the words died in my throat. Dark eyes met mine, intense and knowing. Strong jaw. The kind of face that belonged on magazine covers or movie screens. But it was more than that. Something in the way he looked at me made my pulse quicken despite everything, made my skin feel electric despite the numbness I'd been drowning in. I couldn't explain it. Didn't want to. But sitting there, broken and lost, I felt something I hadn't felt in years. I felt seen.