9. Victoria
— ? —
Victoria
Michelle folded back into the family like she’d never left.
She worked the table with practiced ease, hugging aunts, complimenting dresses, accepting the seat someone made for her without a trace of self-consciousness. Within minutes, she was seated across from me, a glass of wine in her hand, chatting with Alejandra about wedding details.
As if nothing had happened.
As if she hadn’t fled to Chicago two days after the anniversary party, running from whatever Timothy had said to her in that library.
I watched her over my own wine glass.
She looked good. Relaxed. Confident in a way that made my skin crawl.
This was the woman who’d put her hands on my husband’s chest. Who’d leaned in to kiss him at my own anniversary party.
And now she was sitting at my family’s table, laughing at jokes, touching people’s arms, acting like she belonged here.
She does belong here, I reminded myself. She’s family. She has as much right to be here as I do.
But the rational thought couldn’t compete with the visceral response. Every time Michelle’s laugh rang out, something in me flinched.
Timothy had gone rigid the moment she sat down.
I could feel the tension radiating off him, even though we weren’t touching anymore. His jaw was tight. His eyes kept flicking toward Michelle, then away. Every time she moved in his direction, he shifted slightly in his seat, putting more distance between them.
Guilt, I thought. That’s what that looks like. He can barely stand to look at her.
But another part of me whispered something different. Maybe he’s just trying not to make things worse. Maybe he pushed her away like he said, and now he can’t stand the reminder of what almost happened.
I didn’t know which version to believe.
I didn’t know if I’d ever know.
***
The rehearsal dinner was the next night.
Alejandra’s maid of honor gave a toast about choosing your person every day. About showing up even when it’s hard. About the kind of love that doesn’t give up.
I stared at my plate the entire time.
I could feel Timothy’s eyes on me. Could feel the weight of everything we’d left unsaid pressing down on both of us.
After dinner, I needed air.
I slipped out through a side door, heading for the back stairwell where I could be alone for five minutes. Just five minutes without performing. Without pretending. Without feeling Michelle’s eyes tracking every interaction between me and the husband I was supposed to be leaving.
Footsteps behind me.
“Victoria-”
“Don’t.” I didn’t turn around.
“We need to talk about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I started down the stairs. “It’s over.”
“You keep saying that.” His voice followed me, closer now. “But you haven’t filed anything. You haven’t told your parents. You haven’t-”
“You lost the right to know my plans when you spent five years not telling me anything!”
I wasn’t whispering anymore.
The words echoed in the concrete stairwell, bouncing off the walls. I stood on the landing between floors, my hands shaking, my chest heaving with the effort of keeping everything contained.
Timothy moved closer.
I backed up until my shoulders hit the wall.
His hands landed on either side of my head, caging me in without touching me. His face was inches from mine, his breath coming fast.
“I know I hurt you.” His voice was rough. Wrecked. “I know I wasn’t there. But you’re not even giving me a chance to-”
“A chance?” I laughed, and it came out broken. Bitter. “Five years of chances. Five years of waiting for you to show up. I’m done waiting, Timothy. I’m done believing that one day you’ll choose me.”
“I’m choosing you now.”
“It’s too late.”
“It’s not.” He leaned closer. His forehead nearly touched mine. “It’s not too late, Victoria. I know I can’t undo what I did. I know I can’t give you back five years. But I can start now. I can be here now. If you’d just let me-”
“Let you what? Disappoint me again? Make promises you won’t keep?”
“Let me prove I’ve changed.”
The words hung between us.
His mouth was inches from mine. His body close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. Fury and want tangled together in my chest, and I couldn’t tell anymore which one was winning.
Kiss him, something in me whispered.
Push him away, something else demanded.
I did neither.
We stayed there, frozen, breathing each other’s air. The almost pulled at us like a physical force, and I could see in his eyes that he felt it too. That he wanted to close the distance as badly as I did.
But neither of us moved.
The fight stayed a fight.
The kiss stayed impossible.
A sound above us.
We both looked up.
Michelle stood one flight up. Perfectly still. Watching.
She’d heard everything.
The end of the marriage. The fighting. All of it.
A smile curved across her face.
She pressed a finger to her lips.
And walked away.