My husband forgot our wedding anniversary and was with his ex.

"Didn't you know yet? Isa and Xavier were the romance du siecle. We all thought they'd end up together in the end."

For a heartbeat, I forget how to breathe.

When Xavier looked at Isa, the shock, pain, and longing in his eyes were not those of someone looking at a cousin. Now it all makes sense.

So he really did lie - to me.

She isn't his cousin. She's his ex.

He spent our wedding anniversary with her while I sat home alone - waiting until my legs went numb and the food turned cold.

"Enough," Xavier snaps, his tone a lethal warning. "Enough, everyone."

I have never felt such hypocrisy and disgust at the sight of his pained, pleading expression.

"I'm enough!" My voice trembles. "I'm enough with your lies and cheating!"

————————

Another trill of laughter rises from Genevieve's end of the table, crystal-bright and a touch too fueled by champagne. She dabs at the corner of her mouth with her napkin and beams at Isabel. "Tell me, darling, will you be staying long this time? We've missed you so." Her tone is warm, almost adoring. "You mustn't run off again like you did before."

A jovial uncle down the way chimes in, wagging a finger. "Unless our Isa needed a little break from this crazy family!" A few people chuckle. I catch Elise rolling her eyes subtly at the old man and it almost makes me smile.

Isabel tucks a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, offering a polite smile. "I'm not sure yet. There are...many things to figure out now."

Genevieve clucks softly. "Nonsense. We all knew why you left, cherie." She raises her nearly empty glass and winks conspiratorially. "The poor girl was in love."

The words land like a grenade in the center of the table. I feel them hit me in the chest, a concussive force that nearly knocks the air from my lungs. The genteel clinking of silverware dies. A hush falls so sudden and heavy, it's like the whole room holds its breath.

Alejandro's brows draw together over a concerned frown. "Genevieve," he says under his breath, a warning threaded in the sound. "Maybe that's enough-"

But Genevieve waves him off, tipsy and oblivious or simply cruel in her glee. "Oh, come now. I'm only teasing! It was ages ago." She turns her glittering gaze pointedly to me, head tilting. "You understand, don't you, Yara? Young love and all that drama. Our Xavier was positively unbearable that summer. Mon Dieu, he moped about for weeks after she left."

For a heartbeat, I forget how to breathe. Twenty pairs of eyes dart between me, my husband, and the woman in red. My pulse pounds in my ears like a war drum.

So he really did lie - to me.

She isn't his cousin. She's his ex.

He spent our wedding anniversary with her while I sat home alone - waiting until my legs went numb and the food turned cold, wondering when he stopped coming home to me. The distance between us has been growing for weeks, and still I kept clinging to hope, to the dream of a child that never came, to the life we promised each other.

And tonight, he almost killed me. Fed me shellfish while hanging on to every word that fell from her lips, too enthralled to remember the woman he married or the life he swore he wanted.

How utterly bleak.

To think I kept questioning my own sanity, convincing myself I was imagining the distance while he was already gone. I feel so stupid.

I clench my jaw until my teeth ache, the pressure sharp enough to taste metal.

Xavier has gone rigid, every muscle in his body tense. His jaw ticks and his hand around his wine glass is so tight I swear I see his knuckles whiten. A faint clink rings out as his fork slips from his other hand, dropping to the plate. He doesn't pick it up. "Maman," he says quietly, his voice razor-edged. "Ca suffit." That's enough.

The temperature in the room seems to plummet. Lucien clears his throat, looking like he very much wishes he could sink under the table. Elise's eyes are wide with alarm. Alejandro opens his mouth as if to interject, but no one gets a chance.

Genevieve just laughs lightly, reaching for the champagne. "Relax, mon cheri. It was years before he even met his lovely wife." She says lovely wife as if it's an afterthought, tossing me a thin smile down the table.

I have become a ghost at my own dinner table. A phantom. I can't feel the chair beneath me or the silk of my dress against my skin. My vision tunnels on Xavier and Isabel - on Xavier's stricken face and Isabel's lowered, embarrassed gaze. All the tiny pieces click into place with sickening clarity. This isn't just some old love the family likes to tease about. This is the girl who shattered his heart once. The girl he never got over.

Lucien, likely trying to salvage the mood, offers me a grin and a wink. "Didn't you know, belle-soeur?" he says to me, oblivious and cheerful. "Isa and Xavier were the romance du siecle. We all thought they'd end up together in the end, coup de foudre and all that."

"Lucien," Xavier snaps, his tone a lethal warning. I barely recognize the harshness in his voice. His eyes flick to me, wide with panic now. "Tais-toi." Shut up.

Alejandro clears his throat loudly and reaches over to grip his wife's shoulder. "Ya basta. Enough, everyone." His cheeks have gone ruddy with anger or embarrassment, maybe both.

The porcelain plate in front of me blurs, the colors of the meal bleeding together. I'm shaking. I realize that my hands are clenched in my lap so hard my nails have bitten into my palms. A tiny, sane voice in my head whispers that all these staring faces must see my humiliation, that I should hold it together. But that voice is drowned out by a roar of blood and hurt and betrayal in my ears.

"Enough?" The word escapes my lips so softly it's almost lost in the vast dining hall. I don't even know who I'm addressing. My voice trembles. I press my napkin to my mouth, a strangled sound rising in my throat. It starts as a giggle - thin, high, and entirely out of place.

Someone down the table gasps softly. I hear Elise whisper my name, "Yara?", unsure and concerned. But I can't stop. The giggle grows, warping into a bitter laugh. It bursts out of me before I can contain it.

Suddenly I'm laughing, and the sound is loud in my own ears, scraping and hollow. I'm dimly aware of all the horrified eyes fixed on me as I double over, a peal of laughter ripping out of my chest that sounds wild even to me. My hand slaps the table and I clutch the edge of it to keep myself upright as wave after wave of hysteria pours out. Crystal glasses tremble with the vibration of my jarring laughter; a few forks clatter against plates. A servant hovering by the corner looks like he might faint.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes from the force of it. I laugh until my ribs ache, until the sound that was almost merry turns ragged and teeters on the verge of sobbing. It tastes metallic; like blood or broken things. This is what it feels like when the last flimsy barrier holding you together finally snaps.

Gradually, the laughter ebbs, choking off into silence. I'm left panting quietly, the only sound in a room of stunned, silent aristocrats. My shoulders shake as I inhale, trying to steady myself. I wipe under my eye with my thumb, careful not to smudge whatever remains of my dignity along with my mascara. When I lift my head, I find everyone frozen in place, staring at me as if I've lost my mind.

Perhaps I have.

I straighten slowly, smoothing my napkin with trembling fingers and then laying it neatly beside my untouched plate. A stray chuckle still bubbles in my chest, but I swallow it down and force a pleasant, serene smile onto my face.

"Well," I say softly into the silence, "what a delightful dinner conversation. The things one learns at supper, mm?" My voice is almost conversational, but it carries a razor edge that slices through the air. No one replies. They just watch me, stunned and wary, as though I'm some wild animal that has strolled into their gathering.

I push back my chair, the wooden legs screeching against the marble floor. The sound makes several people flinch. Slowly, I rise to my feet and reach for my small beaded clutch resting on the table. My movements are calm, deliberate, belying the adrenaline that's making my hands quiver.

Across the table, Xavier lurches up as well. His face is ashen, eyes wide with alarm. "Yara," he says urgently. It's the first time he's spoken my name since we arrived. "Yara, wait-"

I hold up a hand, palm outward. The gesture manages to stop him in his tracks. For a second, our eyes lock through the glow of candlelight. I see my husband, the man I have loved for years, standing there with desperation all over his face. And I see the truth written in the sag of his shoulders and the guilt swimming in his eyes. All these months. The late meetings, the distant stares, the tension I could never name. I thought he was afraid of losing a big project, busy with something at work, afraid of losing me. But I was wrong. He was afraid of being found out.

A strange calm washes over me. My tears have dried; my heart feels like it's gone cold and hard in my chest. I fix Xavier with a steady, almost gentle look and curl my lips into a bitter facsimile of a smile. "Don't stop on my account," I say, voice cutting through the hush with icy clarity. I nod toward Isabel, who sits as still as a statue, her eyes shiny with unshed tears and fixed on the tablecloth. "Your cousin looks positively famished."

Xavier reels back as if I slapped him. His tan complexion blanches. Isabel's face crumples in hurt, a single tear spilling down her cheek at the word cousin. I almost start laughing again.

No one at the table breathes. Somewhere a few seats away, I hear Genevieve let out a soft, shocked "Mon Dieu..." under her breath, and Alejandro mutter a curse in Spanish. I don't care. None of them matter right now.

Clutch under my arm, I turn on my heel. My head is high, back straight, every inch the perfectly composed Vale wife as I stride away from the table. The train of my halter dress whispers against the marble floor. Each step echoes in the silence - click, click, click - like a hammer driving nails into the coffin of this farce.

No one dares to stop me. No chair scrapes, no footsteps follow. Not even my supposed husband. They just watch, paralyzed, as I make my exit.

At the grand double doors of the dining hall, I pause. For a single heartbeat, I allow myself to look back over my shoulder. What I see is a portrait of shock: faces turned in my direction, mouths agape, eyes wide. Xavier has not moved, one hand half-extended as if reaching for me, his expression wrecked and pleading. Too late.