I wiped my face with the hem of my dress. I walked back to the kitchen on legs that didn't feel like mine.
I picked up the wine bottle and poured two perfect glasses.
I practiced my smile in the reflection of the microwave door. The same dumb one I'd worn for 15 years.
***
When Aaron came out of the bedroom, he went into his home office and came back in a suit, his hands tucked behind his back, hiding something.
"You look beautiful tonight," he said, looking at me.
"So do you," I answered, but I didn't mean it.
I practiced my smile in the reflection of the microwave door.
My husband opened his mouth to say something else.
That's when I heard tires crunch on the gravel outside.
A car door slammed. Footsteps came up our walkway, sure and unhurried, as if they belonged to someone who'd been invited.
Then came the knock!
Aaron's soft smile spread wider, and I knew, with cold certainty, that whoever was on the other side of that door was the missing piece of the lie he'd built for over a decade.
A car door slammed.
"Well, well," my husband said. "Did you really think I was with you because of love?"
I stood and held my wine glass steady. I didn't trust my voice yet, so I just tilted my head, waiting.
The door swung open, and the person who'd knocked walked in. I turned slowly, already bracing for some woman I'd never seen before. But it wasn't a strange woman I didn't know.
It was Diane!
I didn't trust my voice yet.
My stepmother walked in as if she owned the place, a leather folder tucked under one arm and that same tight smile she wore at Thanksgiving, the one she'd worn last November when my father raised a glass and said, "To Diane Vanessa, the woman who keeps this family running."
"Hello, Sandra," Diane said. "Sit down, sweetheart. We have some paperwork to go over."
I felt the floor tilt.
Years of pieces rearranged themselves in a single breath.
"We have some paperwork to go over."
- The "Vanessa" on Aaron's phone was my stepmother; only older family members tended to use her middle name.
- The separate bank accounts.
- The locked drawer clearly hid whatever my husband held.
- The way my husband had nudged me to put the house in his name.
Diane. It had always been Diane!
"You two know each other," I said. It wasn't a question.
