My Ex Husband Wants Me Back

By the time Mara stepped out of the car, rain had begun to settle over the city in a thin silver veil. The Moretti Foundation held its annual dinner at the Grand Bellamy Hotel, a place built for people who did not need to ask what anything cost. Gold light spilled through the tall windows onto the pavement. Men in black suits waited beneath the awning. Women in silk gowns crossed the entrance with their heads bent against the weather, their jewels flashing whenever they moved. Mara stood beneath the awning for a moment longer than she needed to. Her dress was dark blue. It had been altered twice that week because nothing in her wardrobe fit the way it had before Noah was born. She had spent nearly an hour turning in front of the mirror before they left the house, pulling at the fabric around her waist and trying not to hear the voice that had started living inside her head. Too tight. Too obvious. Too much. Adrian had not said any of those things while she dressed. That would have been easier, in a strange way. At least then she would have known what she was facing. Instead, he had stood in the doorway of their bedroom, adjusting the cuff of his watch while he looked at her. His gaze had travelled from her face to the curve of her stomach and then away again. “Are you wearing that?” He had asked it quietly. Mara had looked down at herself. “I thought it was appropriate.” “It is fine,” he had said, already reaching for his jacket. “Let us go.” Fine. The word had followed her through the whole drive. A hotel attendant opened the door for them. Adrian stepped inside first without looking back. Mara gathered the edge of her dress and followed him into the warmth of the lobby, where the scent of polished marble and expensive perfume seemed to settle in her throat. For years, she had been proud to walk beside him. People knew Adrian Moretti. They knew the name in boardrooms, in private clubs, in rooms where powerful men lowered their voices when he entered. He owned hotels, shipping companies, investment firms, and half the buildings along the river. The newspapers called him a businessman. The people who knew better did not call him anything at all. When Mara had married him, he had seemed untouchable. He had been careful with her then. He sent flowers to her office for no reason. He held her hand beneath restaurant tables. When she became nervous around his family, he would bend close to her ear and remind her that she belonged with him. After Noah was born, those moments began to disappear so slowly that Mara did not notice at first. A missed dinner. A cancelled holiday. A night spent in the nursery alone while Adrian slept in the guest room because Noah had been crying. Then the glances began. At first, he looked at her with concern. He asked if she was eating properly. He suggested a trainer. He spoke about health in the calm, measured voice he used during meetings, as if her body were a problem he could solve with enough money and discipline. Later, he stopped pretending concern had anything to do with it. The ballroom doors opened before them. Music drifted through the room. Glasses touched. A string quartet played near the far wall beneath a chandelier that looked as though it could have bought Mara’s childhood home ten times over. Men Adrian had known for years came forward to greet him. Their wives followed with polished smiles and warm voices. Mara stood beside him, smiling when she was expected to smile. She had learned the rhythm of these nights. She knew when to speak and when to remain quiet. She knew how to make people feel that Adrian’s life was as perfect as the magazines claimed. Still, every time someone looked at them together, she felt Adrian’s body tighten beside her. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Enough for her. Near the center of the room, a woman in a white dress lifted a hand and hurried toward them. Her blond hair was swept neatly away from her face, and her smile widened as she reached Adrian. “There you are,” she said, touching his arm as if it belonged to her. “I was beginning to think you had forgotten your own event.” Adrian’s expression changed in a way that made Mara’s chest ache. It was not a smile exactly, but something close to one. “I would not leave you to manage it alone, Claire.” Claire laughed, light and effortless. Then she turned to Mara. “You look lovely tonight.” Mara knew the words were meant kindly. That almost made them worse. “Thank you,” she said. Claire looked back at Adrian. “You promised me the first dance.” For a second, Mara thought he would refuse. He had not danced with her since Noah’s first birthday. She still remembered the last time they had been on a dance floor together. He had held her close at a charity event much like this one, his mouth near her temple as he told her she was the only quiet place in his life. That memory had survived longer than it should have. Adrian looked at Mara briefly. “I will be back,” he said. Then he walked away with Claire. Mara watched him lead another woman onto the floor while the string quartet began a slower song. She told herself that it meant nothing. Claire worked with the foundation. They had known each other for years. Adrian was being polite. Adrian had always been good at making people feel important. But he had not danced with Mara in almost three years. The thought stayed with her long after the music ended. An hour passed. Then another. Mara stood near the champagne table, pretending to listen while one of Adrian’s investors described a new resort on the coast. Her feet hurt. She had not eaten since the afternoon because she had been afraid the dress would feel tighter by the time they arrived. A waiter passed with a tray of small pastries, and before she could stop herself, she took one. She had barely lifted it to her lips when Adrian appeared at her side. He did not raise his voice. He never did at events. His fingers closed around her wrist beneath the tablecloth. “Not here,” he said. Mara looked at him. “What do you mean?” His eyes dropped to the pastry in her hand. For a moment, she could not breathe. “Adrian.” “Put it down.” The investor had turned away, drawn into another conversation. No one was looking at them. That was the skill Adrian had perfected. He could humiliate her in a crowded room without leaving a mark anyone else could see. Mara placed the pastry back on the tray. Adrian released her wrist. “You are embarrassing yourself,” he said. The words were quiet, but they seemed to echo inside her. She stared at him. Her face felt hot. She wanted to ask him what exactly she had done. She wanted to remind him that she had eaten nothing all day. She wanted to tell him that she was tired of feeling ashamed of a body that had carried his son while he stood outside the delivery room, too pale to come in. Instead, she swallowed everything. “I am going to the restroom,” she whispered. He gave a short nod, already looking past her toward someone across the room. Mara walked away before he could see her cry. The restroom was empty except for the sound of running water. She locked herself inside one of the stalls and pressed a hand over her mouth. The tears came anyway, hot and silent at first, then harder when she thought of Noah asleep at home with his nanny. Noah, who was four years old and still waited at the front window whenever Adrian came home late. Noah, who had asked her that morning why his father never read him stories anymore. Mara had told him that Adrian was busy. She hated herself for it. She stayed in the restroom until she could breathe again. When she looked into the mirror, she saw a woman who looked tired in a way powder and lipstick could not hide. Her eyes were red. A loose strand of hair clung to her cheek. She wiped it away and tried to straighten her shoulders. The woman in the mirror did not look like the woman Adrian had married. But she did not look like someone who deserved cruelty either. When she returned to the ballroom, Adrian was near the stage with Claire and several members of the foundation board. He noticed Mara approaching and his mouth flattened. She knew that expression. It meant he had decided she was a problem. He moved toward her before she could reach the group. “Where have you been?” Mara kept her voice low. “I was not feeling well.” “You disappeared without saying anything.” “I told you I was going to the restroom.” His jaw tightened. “Do not argue with me tonight.” The shame inside her shifted then. It was still there, but something else moved beneath it. Something tired. Something close to anger. “You told me I was embarrassing myself because I picked up a pastry,” she said. Her hands trembled at her sides, but she did not hide them. “What did you expect me to do? Stand beside you and starve quietly so nobody notices I have changed?” For the first time that night, Adrian looked directly at her. The music continued around them. People laughed. Somewhere behind them, glasses clinked together. His face did not soften. “You are making a scene,” he said. Mara let out a breath that shook on the way out. “No,” she replied, looking at him with tears burning behind her eyes. “You are. You simply make sure nobody sees it.” For a few seconds, Adrian said nothing. Then he stepped closer, close enough that anyone watching might have believed he was about to whisper something loving to his wife. “Get yourself together,” he murmured. “We will discuss this at home.” Mara watched him walk back toward the lights, toward Claire, toward the life that no longer seemed to have room for her. And for the first time, she wondered whether home was the place she had been losing herself all along.