The Ballroom
The chandeliers at the Oceanside Resort in Southern California scattered starlike light across marble floors. The orchestra drove a fierce tango that dared couples to keep up. Crystal clinked, sequins caught the light, and the scent of salt air, money, and ambition floated through the room like a second perfume.
In the center of it all, my husband was dancing with her.
James Elliott—attorney, rising name in San Diego—looked every bit the American success story in a tailored tux.
Six feet of confidence, salt-and-pepper hair styled just enough to seem effortless, his athletic build owning the floor.
Victoria Bennett, in a scarlet gown with a daring slit that still read elegant, moved tight in his arms, auburn hair grazing his cheek with each turn. They matched too well, as if choreographed for this song—and maybe for more than this song.
I stood at the edge of the floor in an emerald silk gown that suddenly felt heavy.
The hardest truth settled in: I wasn’t part of this performance.
The Ring on the Table
James barely looked up when I set my wedding ring on the small cocktail table beside them. The soft ping of platinum on glass rose above music and laughter. He didn’t notice.
How could he?
He was too focused on pressing closer, on letting the room see how perfectly they fit.
“Keep dancing with her, James,” I whispered, quiet enough to be mine alone. “You won’t even notice I’m gone.”
No one there knew I had spent six months crafting an exit plan so careful it would stump the sharpest legal minds in California.
By morning I wouldn’t just be gone.
I would be unreachable.
A Friend’s Smile
The room spun with color and wealth—diamonds on manicured hands, martinis held by people whose palms never met a sink. Judges, developers, lobbyists talked real estate and campaigns, but eyes kept drifting to the couple in the center.
My husband and his “colleague.”
“They make quite the pair, don’t they?” Diane Murphy slipped to my side, perfume thick, martini swirling like a tiny storm.
Wife of James’s law partner. My supposed friend.
She had a knack for showing up right when I was weakest. Her eyes shone like she’d bought front-row seats to my fall.
“They do,” I said, voice smooth though my throat burned. “James has always appreciated a beautiful dance partner.”
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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