My Husband Left Me Bleeding While He Loved His Mistress

She came on Tuesday.

I was in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Roland was upstairs in his study. Anthony had gone back to the city. Blaire was at some luncheon. I dried my hands and walked to the door.

Lorelei Mills stood on the porch in cream linen, a silk scarf at her throat. She looked exactly like her photographs, only older. Seventy, maybe. Her hair was still dark, pulled back in a way that required effort to look effortless.

'Estelle.' She said my name like we were old friends. 'May I come in?'

I didn't move.

She smiled. It was gentle. Practiced. 'I know this is difficult. I just want to talk. Woman to woman.'

I stepped aside.

She walked past me into the foyer. Her perfume was something expensive and faint. I recognized it. I had smelled it on Roland's jackets for years and told myself it was nothing.

She turned in the center of the hall, looking around like she was appraising the house. Maybe she was. Maybe she'd been here before when I wasn't.

'Roland's upstairs,' I said.

She shook her head. 'I came to see you.'

I waited.

She reached out and took both my hands. Hers were soft. Mine weren't. Fifty years of dishes and laundry and lifting children had left their marks.

'I understand how hard this must be,' she said. Her eyes were wide. Damp at the edges. 'Finding those photographs. I can't imagine.'

I pulled my hands back.

She didn't seem to notice. 'Roland and I—what we had—it was a lifetime ago. But I know it doesn't feel that way to you. I know it feels present. Raw.' She paused. 'I wanted you to know that I never meant to hurt you.'

I looked at her. Really looked. The careful makeup. The soft voice. The slight tremor in her hands that might have been real or might have been performance. I couldn't tell anymore. Maybe it didn't matter.

'Why are you here?' I said.

'Because we're not so different, you and I.' She smiled again. 'We both loved dance. We both loved him. We both gave things up.'

'I gave up my career,' I said. 'What did you give up?'

Something flickered behind her eyes. Then it was gone.

'I brought you something.' She turned toward the door. A man in a dark suit was standing on the porch holding a glass case. She gestured and he brought it inside, set it on the hall table.

Inside the case was a costume. Pale blue silk, hand-stitched, the kind of thing you see in museums. A tutu from another era.

'It was mine,' Lorelei said. 'From my last performance. Before I stopped dancing.' She looked at me. 'I thought you should have it. Shared history. Two women who loved the same thing.'

I stared at the case. The costume was beautiful. It was also a knife.

'I can't accept this,' I said.

'Please.' Her voice dropped. 'It would mean so much to me. To know it's with someone who understands.'

The man in the suit was already walking back to the car. Lorelei touched my arm, light as air.

'I'll let you rest,' she said. 'I know this is overwhelming.'

She walked out. The door closed. I stood in the hall looking at the glass case on the table. The costume inside was perfect. Not a thread out of place.

I left it there and went upstairs.

At seven that evening, Blaire called. Her voice was shrill.

'Mother, what did you do?'

I was in the guest room. I'd been sitting on the bed for an hour, not doing anything. Just sitting.

'What are you talking about?'

'Lorelei's costume. It's destroyed. She's devastated. She's—Mother, she's saying you did it.'

I stood up. 'I didn't touch it.'

'It was in your house. In the guest room. Where you've been staying.' Blaire's breath was fast. 'Daddy went in to get something and found it. It's been slashed. Every panel. It's ruined.'

I walked down the hall. The door to the guest room was open. Roland was standing inside. Anthony was there too. He must have driven back.

The glass case was on the bed. The lid was off. The costume inside was ribbons. Clean cuts, surgical, like someone had taken their time.

Roland turned when I came in. His face was stone.

'Explain this,' he said.

I looked at the costume. Then at him. 'I didn't do that.'

'It was in your room.'

'I didn't bring it in here. I left it downstairs.'

Anthony stepped forward. 'Mom. The case was locked. The key was on your dresser.'

I looked at the dresser. There was a small brass key I'd never seen before.

'That's not mine,' I said.

'Estelle.' Roland's voice was flat. 'Lorelei brought you a gift. A priceless gift. And you destroyed it.'

'I didn't.'

'She's hysterical,' Blaire said from the doorway. She had her phone in her hand. 'Lorelei's hysterical. She's talking about calling the police.'

I looked at the three of them. My husband. My son. My daughter. They were all watching me the same way.

Like I was the problem.

'I did not touch that costume,' I said.

Roland picked up the case. 'We'll discuss this later.'

He walked out. Anthony followed. Blaire lingered.

'Mother,' she said quietly. 'Why would you do this?'

I didn't answer.

She shook her head and left.

I stood alone in the guest room. The brass key was still on the dresser. I walked over and picked it up. It was warm, like someone had been holding it.

I set it back down.

Then I locked the door and sat on the bed in the dark.