He wanted an audience that would quietly compare the polished image he had created for himself with the exhausted reality of the woman he had left behind. He wanted me to appear in that room wearing simple clothes, trying to keep two restless children close to me while his relatives exchanged sympathetic smiles and whispered conversations behind their champagne glasses.
It was not merely an invitation.
It was a stage.
And I was supposed to be the evidence.
I tried to keep my composure.
That attempt lasted perhaps five seconds.
Children notice things adults often wish they would overlook. Lucas was the first to study my face carefully. Adrian followed almost immediately, setting down his toy car and tilting his head in quiet concern.
“Mom,” Lucas asked softly, “why do you look sad?”
Adrian asked the question that nearly shattered my composure entirely.
“Does Dad not want us anymore?”
