A few days later, we hosted Christopher’s birthday. I cooked. I cleaned. I catered, decorated, and smiled.
I wore a navy dress and red lipstick. I slipped on the heels I always regret after an hour. And I played the role—gracious wife, warm hostess, steady rock.
Inside, I was unraveling.
The party buzzed with conversation and music until Luke appeared at my side, tugging at my sleeve.
“Mom,” he whispered, wide-eyed. “That’s her. The skirt. She’s wearing it.”
I followed his gaze.
Penelope.
Christopher’s assistant. Standing by the wine table, radiant and confident in that unmistakable plum satin skirt.
The skirt he had hidden.
The skirt I thought was for me.
She stood beside her husband, Nathaniel, holding a drink, her face aglow.
I picked up a tray of appetizers and crossed the room with a smile.
“Penelope! That skirt is divine on you. Where did you find it?”
She blinked, caught off guard. “Oh… thank you. It was a gift.”
“How lovely,” I said sweetly. “Funny thing—I had one just like it. Found it in my house once. Then it disappeared.”
Her smile wavered.
