Am I Making a Scene?
791 Words
I watched him walk away.
My body felt heavy, but my mind was completely clear. I no longer cared if he believed anything I said.
A faint smile crossed my face as the memories rushed back.
There was a time when I would have chased him down that hallway. My voice would have trembled as I tried to make him understand.
I used to think that if I explained myself better, if I showed him how much I was hurting, he would finally listen. He would finally see me for who I was.
But today, when he walked away with the look on his face, half irritated-half superior, I remained silent.
I smiled slightly and turned away.
When he glanced back, surprise crossed his face.
My silence stripped him of his power over me.
*****
Dinner was pure torture.
I prepared everything exactly the way he liked it.
I chopped the vegetables carefully and seasoned the food just right. My hands went through the motions while my mind drifted elsewhere. Every corner of the kitchen held a memory I wanted to forget.
I let out a long sigh as I set the table. I did not fight for my usual spot next to him. Rita sat there now, in the place that was once mine.
I pulled up a chair at the far end of the table and sat.
The room felt thick with tension. Nobody spoke. I kept my head down and focused on my plate. That was all I needed to do.
Halfway through the meal, a giggle broke the silence. It came from across the table.
I looked up.
Rita was rubbing her hand over her stomach in slow circles. Then her gaze met mine with a rehearsed expression on her face.
"Sister," she said, her voice soft and fake. "I know this might be uncomfortable for you. I don't really know how to say this."
I put my fork down and waited.
"I love Daniel so much," she continued. "I can't bear the thought of being away from him. I really hope you will understand."
Her eyes filled with tears. Fake ones. I saw right through her game.
"I am pregnant," she whispered. "I hope you won't hold it against me. After all, you have your own child too."
Her voice dripped with false sympathy. She really thought I was going to break down crying because she got pregnant by my husband?
Daniel shifted in his chair before I spoke. He cleared his throat, looking me straight in the eye. His voice was calm.
“Rita is moving in with us."
He did not ask. He did not even pretend to care what I thought. No guilt. No shame. Nothing.
"What?" Noah jumped up from his chair, clapping his hands. "I am going to have a little brother?"
He spun around, laughing. "I am going to teach him how to play video games with me. I am going to be a big brother. This is going to be so awesome!"
I turned my face away. Hiding the disappointment written all over it.
"Since she is pregnant with your child, it is only right that she moves in." I paused, my gaze fixed on Daniel. "She can take our bedroom. I don't mind sleeping in the guest house."
Daniel’s jaw tightened. "You know you don't need to be so dramatic. You don't have to complicate everything."
*Dramatic? Complicate?*
My expression flickered.
"Daniel." Rita grabbed his hand. Her voice, soft. "You shouldn't argue with her. I know this is all my fault. I can just stay in a hotel."
Her voice dropped even lower, trembling now. "I am just scared of being alone."
"Remember the doctor said I only have one year left to live. I just want to give you a child before I leave this world." Tears ran down her face.
She buried her face in her hands, sobbing.
I picked up my fork and continued eating. Not minding her.
"Aunt Rita, don't cry," Noah finally said.
He shot me a look, angrily.
"Mom, do you really have to hurt her?"
Rita reached for his hand. "Noah, no. Your mother married your father before me. It is only right that I leave so I don't make her uncomfortable."
"If anyone should leave, it should be her." Noah pointed toward me.
My chest tightened, I opened my mouth but no words came out.
"Noah, don't talk to your mother like that," Daniel’s voice lacked any real authority.
He shifted his gaze to me now.
"Rita has nowhere else to go. I need you to understand the situation and stop making a scene." His words were final.
I carefully set my fork down.
“I’m making a scene?”
- Writer
