The room went quiet around us.
My eyes went straight to Graham.
He didn’t look at me. He tucked Camille’s hand into the crook of his arm without missing a beat.
“Come on. I’ll make the rounds with you.”
Camille huffed softly.
She tipped her wine onto me as she passed. Red splashed down the front of my ivory gown.
“Oops. Clumsy me.”
She pulled a few hundred-dollar bills from her clutch and tossed them onto the table in front of me.
“For the dry cleaning. And with whatever’s left, buy yourself a real bra.”
“Clear straps under an evening gown? What is this, 2005?”
I glanced down.
My body was already changing. The pregnancy saw to that. I’d switched to a soft cotton bra a size up just to get through the night.
The clear straps were a workaround, not a fashion choice. They were fine. Nobody would have noticed if she hadn’t pointed them out.
Graham frowned.
And then he opened his mouth.
“That’s enough, Mara. Go home.”
Distant. Impatient. Like I was the problem.
Five years of this.
Everyone at the company thought he couldn’t stand me.
None of them knew how he held me in the dark. How he came undone every time.
I didn’t look back. I walked out.
From my car, I could see straight into the ballroom. Every window blazing.
Camille stood out instantly, hanging on Graham’s arm.
He leaned down to listen to her, and when she finished talking, the look on his face was soft. Patient. Tender.
He had never once looked at me like that.
Something in me just gave out.
I called him.
Through the glass, I watched him glance at the screen, decline the call without blinking, and slide his phone back into his pocket. He turned right back to the party.
I sat there for a long time.
When my vision finally blurred, I picked up my phone.
[I’m done, Graham. It’s over.]