After My Husband Had Me Arrested for His Mistress

I set the table at six o'clock.

The china was from our first year. White porcelain with a thin gold rim. I'd packed it myself when we moved from that cramped studio in Brooklyn to the penthouse in Midtown. Elijah said it was cheap, but I kept it anyway. Tonight felt like the right night to use it.

I lit the candles. Adjusted the flowers. Checked my phone.

Nothing.

I called him. It rang four times and went to voicemail. I hung up and tried again. Same thing.

I smoothed my dress. It was navy silk, the one he used to say made my eyes look darker. I'd worn my hair down. Put on the pearl earrings his mother gave me at the wedding. I wanted tonight to feel like it mattered.

Seven o'clock came. The food was getting cold. I covered the plates with foil and sat down at the table. I poured myself a glass of wine and stared at his empty chair.

I called again. Voicemail.

I pressed my thumbnail into my palm and counted to ten. It was our anniversary. He wouldn't forget. He was just running late. There was traffic. A meeting ran over. He'd walk through the door any minute, apologize, kiss my forehead, and we'd laugh about it later.

Eight o'clock. The candles were half-melted. I got up and checked the calendar on my phone. We shared one. I opened it and scrolled to today.

There it was. A dinner reservation at Aurelius. Seven-thirty.

I stared at the screen. Aurelius was the restaurant downtown. The one with private rooms and waitlists that stretched for months.

He'd made a reservation. Just not with me.

I sat back down. My hands were shaking. I folded them in my lap and made them stop.

Nine o'clock. The candles guttered out. I sat in the dark for a while. Then I stood up, grabbed my coat and purse, and walked out the door.

The Uber driver didn't talk, which was good. I watched the city slide past the window. My reflection looked calm. That was also good.

Aurelius had a black awning and a doorman who looked at me like I didn't belong. I walked past him into the dim gold interior. A hostess in a sleek dress stepped forward.

"Do you have a reservation?"

"I'm meeting my husband," I said. "Elijah Wright."

Her expression flickered. Just for a second. Then she smiled thinly. "Right this way."

She led me down a hall. Through a half-open door, I saw them.

Elijah sat at the head of a long table. Poppy was beside him, laughing at something he'd just said. Her hand rested on his arm. Around them were faces I recognized—colleagues, mutual friends, people who'd been to our home.

I stepped into the doorway.

The conversation didn't stop right away. Poppy saw me first. Her smile faltered. Then Elijah turned.

For a moment, no one said anything.

"Cecilia." His voice was flat. Not surprised. Just annoyed.

I looked at him. At the wine in his hand. At Poppy's fingers still on his sleeve.

"It's our anniversary," I said quietly.

Someone at the table coughed. Elijah set his glass down slowly.

"I'm in the middle of something."

"I made dinner."

"I didn't ask you to."

The words hit like a slap. I pressed my thumbnail into my palm. The pain kept me steady.

Elijah leaned back in his chair. His jaw was tight. "You want to know the truth, Cecilia? You're exhausting. You threw yourself at me when I had nothing. A desperate charity case. And now you act like I owe you something."

The table went silent. Someone looked down. Another person shifted uncomfortably. Poppy lowered her eyes, her expression soft and sad, like she felt sorry for me.

I stood there. My hands didn't shake. My voice didn't break.

I just looked at him.

Then I turned and walked out.

The hallway felt too long. The floor tilted under me, but I kept walking. I made it to the elevator. Pressed the button. The doors slid open.

I stepped inside.

The doors closed.

Then my hands started shaking. I tried to press the lobby button, but my fingers wouldn't work. I braced myself against the wall and breathed. In. Out. In. Out.

By the time the elevator reached the ground floor, I had stopped shaking.

I walked outside. The air was cold. I stood on the sidewalk and stared at nothing.

Something inside me had changed. I could feel it. A slow, cold hardening. Like water turning to ice.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts. Found Serena Holt. My attorney. I hadn't spoken to her in months.

I typed a message.

*I need divorce papers. Quietly. Start drafting them tonight.*

I hit send.

Then I opened a new browser tab and searched for flights to London. One-way tickets. I scrolled through the options. Picked a date. End of the month.

I saved the search and put my phone away.

Then I walked home through the cold, empty streets of Manhattan, alone.