I’m torturing myself with thoughts of them together, like I somehow deserve the punishment. I believed in Aiden—believed that our social differences wouldn’t mean a damn thing if we loved each other enough.
When I found out I couldn’t have babies because ofendometriosis, I clung to his words, that it didn’t matter—that nothing else mattered as long as we loved each other.
I was such a naïve fool.
But no more of that.
I’ve felt so guilty for not giving Aiden children that I’ve made myself smaller, made myself agreeable, made myself someone I dislike.
I’ve been so compliant, wanting so desperately to be part of a family, that I’ve let them walk all over me.
Not this Christmas.
This year, I didn’t pack away my spine—I’m wearing it.
There are rituals in the Winter family. Day one is Christmas Eve dinner.
Day two is breakfast and skiing on Christmas Day, followed by Christmas lunch.
Day three is a mimosa brunch before we all go home.
It’s day one of holiday festivities and the last day of my marriage, emotionally, at least.
Crystal chandeliers glow. A jazz trio plays some Louis Armstrong in the background. Everyone’s dressed like it’s the Met Gala in a hall of mirrors.
Jesus! How pretentious can these people get?
I sip champagne, damn good Dom, I must say, as I sit on a couch and watch everyone.
Gianna is in a bodycon dress. She’s a size zero. She always talks about how she lost all her baby weight in just six months. They never fail to remind me that I can’t get pregnant, that I’m barren, as if the most important function a woman has is to reproduce.
Is that why he’s with Diana? Because she can have children?
The thought scorches through me like a burning flame. God, but this hurts.
All of it. So much.
Edith and Nelson are holding court by the fireplace, talking to Patrick, Gianna’s husband. He’s a good-for-nothing. An alcoholic with a gambling problem. But because he comes from old money like the Winters, they approve of him.
Betty is all smiles as she talks to Aiden. They’re seated across from me on a matching sofa. Tristan, Aiden’s brother, has his arm around his wife. His eyes are on his kids who’re playing a board game in a seating area in the far corner. They’re well behaved as expected. Kids are to be seen, not heard. They’re with their French nanny. I smirk to myself. Maybe he’s not looking at Nelson Jr. and Carla; he’s watching Lulu.
“Mia, how are things?” Gianna plants her firm ass on the sofa next to me, angling herself to face me.
Usually, I’d be with Aiden, trying to talk to everyone, trying to valiantly fight the exclusion.
Now that I’m sitting on my own, Gianna has come to me. Maybe I should’ve employed this trick early on.Too bad this is the last time I’ll see these miserable people.
“Things are great.” I raise my flute of champagne in a toast. It’s a prop. I’m on a stage.
Surprise flickers in her eyes. I’m usually all smiles and subservience. She wrinkles her nose like she smells something unpleasant.
That would be my resentment boiling over, bitch.
“I can’t believe you still have that kindergarten job. You know Aiden doesn’t need that money you make playing with glue and glitter.”
Gianna likes to show off about how much money she makes as Vice President of an IT company.
“Aiden may not, but I do.” I take another sip, my eyes steady on hers. “And it’s phenomenally rewarding. Last week, a five-year-old told me I was her favorite grown-up in the world. So, glue and glitter lead to emotional fulfillment.”
