Chapter 19 Kate
KATE
HALFWAY TO HOME
“I’ve got one foot in this city, the other back on Pine Hollow roads / But every time you hold me, it feels halfway to home.” Kate Riggs
The women’s restroom glitters like the ballroom it’s attached to—mirrored walls, gold fixtures, and perfume lingering like judgment. Every woman here looks like she belongs in a magazine spread—smooth hair, flawless makeup, and dresses that look like they’ve never hung on a rack.
They probably haven’t. They are probably handmade by designers, the “one-of-a-kind” dresses.
I keep my head high as I walk in, to hide the fact that I’m unraveling thread by thread on the inside, is an understatement.
Each woman I pass seems more polished than the last. Their diamonds are real. Their confidence is louder than their lipstick. I don’t belong here, not really, not with my dollar-store imposter syndrome and the elegance I borrowed.
I’m a fake—a fake wife and a phony socialite. I duck into a stall and close the door, letting out a slow breath, and that’s when I hear them.
Two voices. Casual. Cruel. Cutting into me like I don’t have feelings, that I’m a nobody, an object, not a person.
“Finn Callahan’s new wife? Please. He’ll get tired of her by Christmas. His relationships never last. He loses interest fast.”
“Did you see her shoes?” the second one says with a smirk in her voice. “Red bottoms don’t make her high class. She probably didn’t even buy them herself. She’s a kept woman. A pretty face on a leash. She’s a gold digger.”
“Oh, Tess, you’re right. I bet she couldn’t make it in the music industry on her own, and with him on her arm and his last name, it can’t hurt.”
Laughter. Their voices are tight, and they are mocking me.. And it hits harder than I expected because Finn made me feel like I belonged.
My vision blurs. I blink fast, keeping the tears behind my eyes.
I will not give them that, no, never that.
I don’t break, not for them. I refuse to give them the satisfaction.
So I stare at the tips of those shoes—the ones the stylist picked.
The ones Finn paid for. They’re perfect, painfully so. And suddenly, I hate them.
I step out of the stall, pushing the door with more force than I expected.
The two women are fixing their lipstick in the mirror, but they freeze mid-sentence when they spot me.
I say nothing at first. Just bend down slowly, unstrap the shoes, and step out of them barefoot onto the cold tile.
Then I walk up to the blonde on the right—the one with the too-sweet smile and the venom in her voice. I hand her the heels.
“You can have them.”
Her mouth drops open, but I’m already walking out. I’m barefoot, but I hold my head high even though my eyes are burning.
But not with tears. With disappointment. For one minute, I let myself think I belonged. And I don’t, so I can’t go back to the ballroom.
Instead, I find a stairwell tucked behind a service door, and I sink onto the steps and, with shaking fingers, I pull out my phone and tap Shay’s name.
She answers on the second ring. “Tell me you’re not calling me from the bathroom at a black-tie gala.”
“Stairwell,” I whisper. “Slightly classier.”
She goes quiet for a second. “What happened?”
I tell her everything. The voices. The shoes. The insults. The walkout. There’s a beat of silence on the other end. Then she exhales sharply.
“You, my friend, are a class act,” Shay says firmly. “You stood up for yourself without even raising your voice. That’s power.”
“I felt like an idiot.”
“You acted classy, a queen with class who rose above their pettiness. They’re just jealous.”
I bite my lip. “They said I don’t belong there.”
Shay doesn’t miss a beat. “They’re wrong. You belong there just as much as they do—if not more. You earned every second of that night, and don’t you let some petty, insecure nobodies try to rewrite your story.”
Tears sting my eyes, but I smile through them.
“Thanks, Shay.”
“Now wipe your eyes, go find your man, and remind those bitches why he married you.”
I laugh. “Right.”
My phone buzzes. Finn.
Where are you?
I’m in the stairwell, near the ice sculpture.
A minute later, he appears, larger than life. I want to run to him and bury my head in his chiseled chest, but I can’t. I have to stand on my own two feet.
“You came,” I mutter.
“Of course I did. You’re my wife. What happened?” His eyes search mine for clues.
“They were mean. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“You’re here because you belong as much as anyone else. Don’t let a few Karens ruin your day. You can’t let them live rent-free in your head. You owned that room tonight. You, Kate Callahan.”
“I don’t feel like I belong. I mean.” I run my hands down the silken dress. “You bought me the dress, the jewelry, and the shoes. I shouldn’t have accepted. But for a minute, I wanted to belong. Is that bad?”
“Not at all. I’ve heard you sing. They can’t do that.
I’ve seen how hard you work. There are nice women here—you’ll have to find them, and in time, you will.
But if you let those shallow women run you off, you’ll never know if you can hold your own.
And the Kate I know, the Kate I married, will shine in the face of adversity.
The Kate I know owns the room, especially when she’s on stage. ”
He pulls out his phone, and I hear my song. He shows me the screen. “That’s you. Look at how the audience looks at you, Kate. You, not the drummer, not the bass player, you.”
I want to cry because he’s pretty damn convincing. But more than that, he has my back.
I don’t know what to do now, because he makes a good case. So, I do the only thing I can. I lean in and kiss him. I kiss him like a drowning woman, and he’s my life raft.
Because in this moment? He is.
The kiss is warm and gentle, but he pulls me to him and takes control. I moan against him.
“Let’s get out of here,” he mutters.