Chapter 3 - The Breaking of the Servant’s Heart
By 3:00 PM,
the luncheon was in full swing,
and I was a shell of a person.
The physical pain had moved past a dull ache into a sharp,
stabbing sensation that made every breath a chore.
I was standing by the sideboard,
waiting to clear the dessert plates,
when one of Constance’s oldest friends,
Mrs. Gable,
looked at me with a frown.
“Don’t I know you?”
she asked,
squinting through her designer glasses.
Before I could answer,
Constance let out a tinkling,
artificial laugh that grated on my nerves.
“Oh,
this is Mallory,
Derek’s wife,”
she said,
her voice dripping with a condescension she didn't bother to hide.
“She insisted on helping out today,
you know how these young girls are,
always wanting to be useful.”
The table went quiet for a heartbeat,
the lie hanging in the air like a foul odor.
Derek didn't correct her.
He didn't even look up from his cheesecake.
He just nodded,
as if my "insistence" on working four days postpartum was a charming trait he tolerated.
“You look quite unwell,
dear,”
Mrs. Gable said,
actually showing more concern than my husband had in months.
“Perhaps you should sit down.”
Constance’s smile didn't falter,
but her eyes turned into chips of ice.
“She’s just tired from the baby,
she’ll be fine once the work is done.”
I felt a drop of sweat roll down my spine,
and for a moment,
I thought I might actually faint on the expensive Persian rug.
I turned away without a word,
walking toward the kitchen with the last of my strength.
I didn't stop at the sink.
I didn't stop at the trays.
I walked straight to the mudroom,
grabbed my purse,
and stepped out the side door.
I didn't call Derek.
I didn't say goodbye.
I pulled out my phone and called my mother.
“Come get me,”
I whispered,
the first tears finally breaking through.
“I’m at the end of the driveway.”
“I’m already five minutes away,”
my mother replied,
her voice calm and steady.
She had known.
She had known exactly how this would play out.
As I sat on the curb at the edge of the Keene property,
hidden by the tall hedges,
I watched the cars of the elite through the gate.
I felt the blood beginning to soak through my bandages,
a grim testament to the "sacrifice" I had made for a family that didn't love me.
When my mother’s SUV pulled up,
she didn't ask questions.
She got out,
helped me into the passenger seat,
and handed me a cold bottle of water and a pain reliever.
“Is Hazel okay?”
I asked,
my voice trembling.
“Hazel is perfect,”
she said,
putting the car in gear.
“And soon,
everything else will be too.”
I looked at her,
noticing the way her jaw was set.
“The folder,
Mom?”
I asked.
She nodded,
turning the car toward the highway,
leaving the Keene estate and my old life in the rearview mirror.
“The folder is on the kitchen table,”
May you like
she said.
“It’s time for you to see what Derek and his mother have been doing with your life.”
