The Anniversary Toast Chapter 07
Three days later, the divorce papers were served.
Grant showed up at Nora’s apartment that evening, pounding on the door. I watched through the peephole – his tie was loosened, his hair disheveled, his eyes bloodshot. He looked like he hadn’t slept since the dinner.
“Elise, please. Open the door. We need to talk.”
I said nothing.
“I ended it with Audrey. It’s over. She meant nothing to me – it was a mistake, a stupid, horrible mistake. You’re the one I love. You’ve always been the one.”
Nora appeared beside me, raising an eyebrow. I shook my head.
“Elise, I will stand here all night if I have to.”
I pressed the intercom button. “Grant, you have thirty seconds before I call the police.”
His voice cracked. “Baby, please—”
“Twenty-five seconds.”
A long, shuddering breath. Then his forehead thudded against the door – a dull, defeated sound.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Elise.”
I stepped back from the peephole. Nora and I sat on the couch in silence until we heard his footsteps retreat down the hallway.
“He’ll try again,” Nora said.
“I know. And the answer will be the same every time.”
What he didn’t know – what nobody knew yet – was that I’d also sent the evidence to Vienna’s most popular lifestyle magazine. A journalist friend of Nora’s had been working on a piece about influencer culture and double lives. Audrey’s social media presence – her curated image as the supportive, wholesome sister – made her the perfect case study.
I hadn’t done it for revenge. Revenge was the dinner. This was insurance. If Audrey tried to spin the narrative, tried to play the victim, tried to rewrite history the way she’d rewritten our sisterhood – the truth would already be public.
The article was scheduled to run next week.
That same evening, my mother called.
“Elise,” she said, and her voice sounded ten years older. “Your father and I want you to know we stand with you. Completely.”
“I know, Mom.”
A pause. “Audrey came to the house today.”
My grip tightened on the phone. “And?”
“Your father wouldn’t let her past the front porch. She was crying, saying it wasn’t what it looked like, that Grant manipulated her—”
“Mom. You saw the messages. She was a willing participant. Enthusiastic, even.”
Another pause, heavier this time. “I know. That’s what I told her.”
“What did she say?”
“She said you ruined her life by showing those slides.”
I let out a short, bitter laugh. “Of course. I’m the villain for exposing what she did, not her for doing it.”
My mother’s voice hardened – a tone I rarely heard from her. “I told her she is not welcome back until she takes full responsibility. No excuses, no deflection. Your father said something less diplomatic.”
“I can imagine.”
“Elise, honey—are you okay? Really okay?”
I considered the question honestly. Was I okay? No. I was gutted, betrayed by the two people closest to me. My marriage was over. My relationship with my sister was destroyed. I was sleeping in my best friend’s guest room with two suitcases and a box of books.
But I was also breathing. Thinking clearly. Making decisions.
“I’m getting there, Mom.”