Page 32 of Buttons

While sitting together, Carmella leans close to him, laughing at something he’s said. Her perfect face tilts toward his, dark hair swept up to reveal the elegant line of her neck. I can’t breathe. The room blurs at the edges, colors smearing as my focus narrows to Julian’s hand on Carmella’s back.

He’s already moved on.

I blink back tears, refusing to let them fall here. My champagne glass trembles in my hand, and I quickly set it down on a nearby table before I drop it.

I won’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, I raise my chin, let my shoulders drop back, and breathe deeply. If Julian wants a show, I’ll give him one. Not the one he’s expecting, though. Not the heartbroken ex-wife, but the woman who’s finally finding herself after years of careful erasure.

But God, it hurts to watch his fingers press against the fabric of her dress, to see the easy confidence with which they claim their space together, to recognize how quickly he can pretend I never existed.

I move through the crowd with grace, the kind Julian spent years perfecting in me. “Glide, don’t walk,” he used to say. “You’re not rushing to catch a bus.” My stride carries metoward them before I’ve fully decided what I’ll do. Some part of me wants to make a scene, to demand answers in front of everyone. But the larger part, the one growing stronger every day, knows that I don’t need his explanations anymore. I don’t need anything from Julian Plaza, except his duties as a father.

Julian notices me when I’m halfway to their table. I see the exact moment recognition hits him as his back stiffens, his hand freezes on Carmella’s spine, and his smile falters. To anyone else, the reaction would be imperceptible, but I’ve spent a decade studying Julian’s micro-expressions, learning to anticipate his needs before he voices them. I know what surprise looks like on his face.

He hadn’t expected me to come tonight. He thought I’d be home with the children, far from this world I’m no longer supposed to be part of. Carmella follows his gaze, and her eyes narrow when she spots me. Her hand slides possessively to Julian’s arm, staking her claim.

“Elowen,” Julian says as I approach. He says my name the way he always has. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Clearly.” I keep my voice neutral, my gaze steady. The old Elowen would have looked away, would have shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. Not anymore.

Julian stands. “It’s why I invited Carmella to join me.”

“Sounds about right.”

Carmella remains seated, staring at us. Her crimson lips curve into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Elowen, it’s been too long,” she says, though we just saw each other two months ago. “Love what you’ve done with your hair. Very brave.”

There’s that word again. Brave. As if authenticity is an act of courage rather than a basic human right.

“Thank you,” I reply as my only response, refusing to engage with her further.

Julian clears his throat. “As I was explaining, this isn’t what it looks like,” he says, gesturing vaguely between himself and Carmella. “She’s here as a business associate, nothing more.”

I tilt my head slightly. “I didn’t ask.”

My response throws him off balance. He expected questions, accusations, or tears. Something he could address with his carefully prepared explanations. My disinterest wasn’t an option in his mind.

“We need to talk,” he continues, lowering his voice. “About the children. About what you’ve been posting online. About this entire unfortunate situation.”

“The children are fine. My social media is none of your business. And what situation are you referring to, exactly?”

Carmella stands, inserting herself between us with fluid grace. “Julian’s been so worried about you,” she says, her voice honeyed with false concern. “We all have.”

“That’s kind,” I say, “but unnecessary.”

Julian’s jaw tightens. “Elowen, this is ridiculous. You can’t just walk away from everything we’ve built. The children need stability and a home.”

“They have stability and a home,” I counter. “It’s just not the one you think it should be.”

“A cramped apartment with secondhand furniture is hardly what I’d call suitable.”

Of course he’s been checking up on us, probably had someone drive by, maybe even take photos. Julian wouldn’t allow loose ends in any aspect of his life, including his estranged family. If only he’d put that much effort into our marriage.

“It’s not a unilateral decision. They have two parents.”

Carmella loops her arm through Julian’s. “Darling, perhaps this isn’t the right time for such a personal conversation.”

Darling. The endearment lands like a punch to my heart. How quickly she’s claimed the space I vacated. Still, I refuse to let it show.

Meanwhile, Julian stiffens at her touch, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. “Carmella,” he says, his tone sharpening. “Step back.”