I Saw Two Faces In My Husband’s Heart Chapter 10
A year later, my debut solo design exhibition opened at a gallery downtown.
The collection was titled Seven, featuring minimalist jewelry concepts inspired by a childhood aesthetic. The curator described the line as “deeply elegant but intensely resilient.”
During a feature interview with a prominent design magazine, the reporter asked about the recurring motif of interlocked hands throughout the pieces. “Is there a specific narrative behind the imagery?”
“Not particularly,” I replied to the microphone. “Holding hands is a beautiful sentiment, but if the grip loosens, you simply have to learn to walk the path alone.”
Shortly after the issue hit the stands, Samantha called to inform me that Ethan had bought a dozen copies.
“Christian told me he keeps one on the nightstand on the side of the bed where you used to sleep. His walk-in closet is still completely empty on your side; he won’t let the housekeeper place a single item there.”
She added that his associates often catch him staring at his monitor late at night, the screen displaying our old wedding portrait.
“How are you getting all these details, Sam?” I asked.
“Christian,” she sighed. “Their entire circle is completely frantic. They say he’s like a hollow shell of himself this past year.”
“That’s his problem,” I remarked.
In November, I took a brief trip upstate to see the autumn leaves. Walking along a secluded trail covered in deep gold maple leaves, I noticed a figure standing under a large oak tree ahead.
He was wearing a tailored grey overcoat — the exact one I had purchased for his birthday five years ago. The wool cuffs were visibly frayed, the threads loose at the edges, but he hadn’t replaced it.
He caught sight of me and froze, taking two tentative steps forward, his lips parting as if to call out my name.
I smoothly turned on my heel and walked in the opposite direction, my boots crunching briskly against the fallen leaves. After clearing a significant distance, I glanced back over my shoulder. He was still standing under the oak tree, entirely isolated, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he watched my retreating figure.
I turned back and kept walking without breaking stride.
On the opening night of the gallery showcase, the head of security approached me after hours. “Chris, there’s a gentleman who’s been standing in front of the center display piece for over an hour after we cleared the floor. Just thought you should know.”
I checked the security feed from the manager’s office. It was Ethan.
He was standing before a minimalist silver necklace titled First Sight, his head bowed slightly. The gallery’s spotlight illuminated the jewelry inside the glass case, leaving him standing just on the edge of the shadow.
The coordinator mentioned later that he had purchased a replica of the piece from the gallery shop, asking if it could be custom engraved. “He requested the words ‘I’m sorry’ on the back.”
“Ignore it,” I said.
Samantha mentioned that he hadn’t dated anyone since the decree finalized. Amber had tried to contact his office multiple times after her termination, but he refused to grant her an appointment. He skipped all social gatherings, choosing to lock himself in his office every weekend.
His mother had even reached out to Samantha, asking if she could intervene and speak to me.
“What did you tell her?” I asked.
“I told her some things can’t be mediated,” Samantha said.
I was sitting at my drafting table, sketching the concepts for the next seasonal line. My charcoal pencil hesitated over the paper for a fraction of a second before I resumed the clean, sharp lines.
The new piece was a pair of delicate diamond drops. I titled them Dawn.