The Thirty-Eighth Divorce's End

The hotel ballroom was glittering with lights and filled with people. Ethan held my arm in a tight grip, leading me through the crowd.

Ilene rushed to meet us, her face glowing with happiness. She was wearing a stunning, expensive-looking gown.

She threw her arms around Ethan's neck, ignoring me completely.

"Ethan, you came! And you brought her!" she chirped. She kissed his cheek, then turned to me, her smile a slash of red lipstick.

"Thank you for arranging all this for me, Ethan," she said loudly, for everyone to hear. "It' s so much grander than any birthday Aurora ever had."

She looked at me, her eyes dancing with malice. "You don't look very happy, Aurora. Aren't you going to wish me a happy birthday?"

I said nothing. My blood felt sluggish in my veins, thick and cold.

She pouted, then pulled Ethan away toward the dance floor, leaving me standing alone.

I found a quiet corner and sank into a plush sofa, the murmurs of the crowd washing over me.

"That's her, Aurora Kemp."

"The one who's been divorced from Ethan Bruce nine times."

"I heard she's a doormat. She lets him walk all over her."

"I don't blame him. Ilene is the one he grew up with. They were supposed to be together."

"Someone told me the car accident that crippled Ilene was Aurora's fault. She's the reason Ilene can't have children."

"She' s just a third wheel. Ethan obviously loves Ilene more. He' s just with Aurora out of pity."

Every word was a small, sharp cut. I squeezed my hands together in my lap, my nails digging into my palms. The physical pain was a welcome distraction from the storm inside me.

I watched them on the dance floor. Ethan and Ilene, moving as one. He was smiling down at her, a gentle, loving smile I hadn't seen directed at me in years.

They looked perfect together.

Maybe the whispers were right. Maybe I was the intruder. Maybe I should have just walked away a long time ago and let them be happy.

I closed my eyes, the music and the voices fading into a dull roar. I had to get out of there.

I stood up and turned to leave.

But Ilene was suddenly there, blocking my path.

"Leaving so soon?" she asked, her voice syrupy sweet. "The party's just getting started."

She smiled. "But first, a gift. For you."

She held out a beautifully wrapped gift box.

A presentiment of some fresh evil made the skin on my arms prickle. I looked at the box as one might look upon a venomous thing, knowing with a certainty that went bone-deep that I could not touch it.

"No, thank you," I said, my voice firm.

"Oh, don't be like that," she insisted, trying to press the box into my hands. "It's a peace offering."

She grabbed my purse, trying to stuff the box inside. I tried to pull it back. We struggled for a moment, a clumsy, desperate tug-of-war.

The purse fell to the floor.

The gift box tumbled out, the lid flying off.

Its contents scattered across the polished marble.

It wasn't a gift. It was a stack of photographs.

Ilene's face went deathly white. She let out a piercing scream.

"No! Get them away! Get them away from me!"

Ethan rushed over, his face a thundercloud. He saw the photos on the floor and his entire body went rigid.

He didn't look at me. He didn't ask what happened. He just wrapped his arms around the screaming, sobbing Ilene, shielding her from the world.

He glared at me, his eyes blazing with a hatred so intense it stole my breath.

"What have you done?" he snarled.

I was confused. I didn't understand. I bent down and looked at the pictures.

My mind went blank.

The photos were horrific. They showed Ilene, years ago, bruised, bloody, and torn. They were photos of the aftermath of a sexual assault.

The source of her trauma. The reason for Ethan' s guilt. The foundation of our broken marriage.

And now they were scattered on a ballroom floor for the world to see.

My mind flashed back to Ilene pressing the box into my hands. The setup. The trap.

"It wasn't me," I whispered, my voice trembling. "She gave them to me."

But no one was listening.