Chapter 2 - Shattered Vows and Broken Glass
The shattered wineglass at Patricia’s feet was the only thing that moved for a long time.
The red liquid seeped into the expensive white rug,
staining it like a fresh wound.
It was a perfect metaphor for the mess Marcus had made of our lives.
"Marcus?"
the fiancée finally spoke,
her voice high-pitched and trembling with rising anger.
"What is she talking about?
Who are these people?"
She looked at me with a gaze full of venom,
her perfectly manicured hands shaking.
She was the picture of elite perfection,
the kind of woman Marcus thought he deserved after "discarding" the burden of a pregnant wife.
"Isabella,
please,"
Marcus muttered,
not looking at her.
He couldn't take his eyes off the children.
He was counting them,
I realized.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
The weight of the number was sinking in.
He had run away from one responsibility,
only to be confronted by four times the consequence.
"Don't 'Isabella' me!"
she snapped,
pulling her hand away from his arm.
"You told me you were never married to anyone important!
You said your ex-wife was a gold-digger who couldn't even keep a job!"
I stepped further into the warmth of the living room,
my heels clicking rhythmically on the hardwood.
"Oh,
is that what he told you?"
I asked,
tilting my head.
"He must have forgotten to mention that I built my own tech firm while he was busy hiding from child support."
Marcus winced as if I had slapped him.
He looked around the room,
noticing for the first time the quality of my coat,
the designer boots I wore,
and the fact that I had arrived in a private helicopter.
I wasn't the broken girl he left in a one-bedroom apartment.
I was the CEO of a company that eclipsed his own family’s holdings.
"Kesha,
we need to talk,"
he said,
trying to regain some shred of authority.
"In private."
"There is no 'private' anymore,
Marcus,"
I said,
gesturing to my children.
"You invited me here to show off your new life,
didn't you?
You wanted to see me crawl back,
hoping for a seat at your table."
I looked at the long dining table,
laden with silver and crystal.
"But as you can see,
my family is already full."
Olivia,
the smallest of the four,
tugged on my dress.
"Mama,
I'm hungry,"
she said softly.
"Is this the house where the mean man lives?"
The room went even colder,
if that were possible.
Marcus looked at Olivia,
and for a fleeting second,
I saw a flash of genuine pain in his eyes.
It was the pain of a man realizing he had missed every first step,
every first word,
and every Christmas morning for eight years.
"I'm not a mean man,
sweetie,"
Marcus said,
his voice cracking as he reached out a hand toward her.
Olivia stepped back,
hiding behind my legs.
She didn't know him,
and she didn't trust him.
To her,
he was just a stranger in a fancy suit who made her mother’s jaw tighten.
"Stay away from them,"
I said,
May you like
my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"You lost the right to be called anything by them the day you changed your number."
