Nico clicked his tongue. “Let’s go. She’s a pain in the ass. Always has been.”
One by one, they drifted away—Mike’s arm draped around Sasha’s shoulders like she was the queen of this house. Maureen disappeared into the hallway without looking back. I picked myself up, wiping the spit off the floor with my sleeve.
In my room—the room that used to be mine—I started opening old boxes. Photographs, dried flowers, concert tickets, cards with sweet words I used to believe. Our wedding portrait, the edges yellowed. Nico and I in our school uniforms, smiling like fools who thought forever was simple.
I tossed them all into the fireplace. Watched as the flames swallowed every lie I ever told myself about family, love, loyalty. The smell of burning paper was acrid but strangely sweet.
The next day, the house came alive. Glittering lights, trays of food, music. Sasha’s birthday. Her laughter rang through the halls like bells announcing my funeral. No one looked my way as I carried drinks, refilled glasses, cleaned up their careless spills.
“Is that her? Mike’s wife?” I heard someone whisper behind me. “I thought she was the maid.”