Aunt June entered without knocking, wearing midnight-blue velvet and carrying champagne.
“I assume we’re finally telling everyone.”
Sophie turned. “You knew?”
“I signed the certificate.”
“Aunt June!”
“I keep confidences.”
She told us Adrian was in the lobby, already being greeted by attorneys and one retired judge.
Sophie looked at me. “What are you going to do?”
For years, I had imagined a grand reveal: taking Adrian’s hand, walking straight to my father, watching the room go silent.
But standing there, I realized that fantasy felt empty.
Adrian was not ammunition.
My marriage was not evidence.
“I’m leaving with my husband,” I said.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“What about Dad?”
“He’ll learn eventually that not everything is about him.”
We walked into the lobby together: me in black, Sophie in ivory, my mother in silver, and Aunt June trailing behind like a satisfied conspirator.
Adrian stood beneath the chandelier in a charcoal suit, speaking with Judge Weston.
Then he saw me.
Everything else disappeared from his face.
He crossed the lobby directly.
“You’re okay?”
“Yes.”
“You said come now.”
“I know.”
“Something happened.”
“Yes.”
His gaze dropped to my hand, to the wedding band I was wearing openly for the first time at a family event.
“So,” he said.
“So.”
His thumb brushed my knuckles.
“That’s new.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
“No,” he said. “It shouldn’t.”
