Chapter 4

"Hazel, Ethan says you absolutely have to be there."

A week later. Valerie's call came through while I was hanging laundry on Maya's balcony.

It was his company's fourth-anniversary gala.

"What were his exact words?"

Valerie cleared her throat. "He said, 'Everyone knows how hard Hazel worked these past four years. She has to be there. Put her at the best table.'"

In the living room, Maya rolled her eyes, silently mouthing: "Disgusting."

I remained silent for five seconds.

"What time? Where?"

"Saturday, 7:00 PM. The Grand Ballroom on the 18th floor of the Westin. Should I have your dress sent over, or—"

"No need. I have my own."

I hung up, and Maya immediately rushed over. "You're not actually going, are you?"

"I am."

"Hazel, wake up! This is clearly him throwing you a bone to give you an out—"

"I'm not taking his out," I shook the duvet, sending a cloud of dust swirling into the sunlight. "But I want to see with my own eyes who is sitting in my seat."

Saturday, 6:55 PM. I arrived.

Two young receptionists were handling check-ins at the door. They froze when they saw me, flipping through the list for a while before finding my name. "Your seat is at the VIP Table, Seat 3."

Seat 3.

Ethan was Seat 1.

I pushed open the frosted glass door of the private dining room.

The round table was covered in a deep red tablecloth, with a floral centerpiece. Ethan sat in the host seat, leaning over to talk to the person next to him.

She was wearing a cream-white satin dress, sharply tailored to show off her collarbones. A small pearl brooch was pinned to her neckline.

I looked down at my own dress.

Same brand. Same collection. Just a different color. Hers was the newly released spring limited edition.

Chloe.

Twenty-three, round face, bangs brushing her eyebrows. She looked as innocent as a fresh college grad.

She was in Seat 2—to my right, right next to Ethan.

And she was leaning over, carefully picking the raw onions out of his salad and piling them onto a side plate.

I had done that for four years. Ethan hated raw onions; he couldn't stand the sharp taste.

She did it with practiced ease.

"Hazel's here!"

Chloe saw me first and jumped up. Her chair scraped loudly against the carpet.

"Please, sit! I was just helping Ethan proofread his speech and forgot to swap seats. I'm so sorry."

Her tone was light, her smile reaching her eyes.

Ethan stood up briefly, tugging at his suit jacket. "You're here? Go sit over there. The view from the opposite side is better."

Opposite.

I used to sit right beside him. Now, he wanted me across the table.

Chloe stood there, waiting to see my reaction.

I walked over and sat in Seat 3. I said nothing.

"Alright, everyone, let's raise a glass!"

The toasts began. After a few rounds, Ethan had quite a bit to drink, his face flushing.

During the third round, the head of engineering came over to toast him with a glass of chilled white wine.

Before Ethan could reach for it, Chloe stood up.

"Let me drink this one for Ethan," she took the glass, smiling at the manager. "Hazel doesn't come to these dinners often so she doesn't know, but Ethan's stomach has been acting up lately. He can't have cold drinks."

The manager turned to look at me.

Two nearby colleagues laughed to ease the tension. "Chloe is so considerate."

"Stomach acting up."

There was absolutely nothing wrong with Ethan's stomach.

But he had started taking antibiotics last week for an inflamed wisdom tooth—a three-day prescription.

You can't mix antibiotics with alcohol.

She didn't know that. She only knew he hadn't been drinking much lately, so she made up a "bad stomach" story to look caring.

I stood up.

I walked over.

And I snatched the glass right out of Chloe's hand.

Her eyes widened. "Hazel—"

I splashed the wine straight onto the table. The chilled white wine splattered, soaking half the tablecloth.

"His stomach isn't bad. He's on antibiotics," I said, staring at her. "Mixing antibiotics with alcohol can kill him. You don't even know that, and yet you're eager to play the doting wife?"

The entire table went dead silent.

Chloe's lips trembled, and her eyes instantly welled with tears.

"Hazel, I was just worried about him... I didn't know he was on medication..."

"Oh, you seem to know plenty," I cut her off. "You know how to pick out his onions, you dare to edit his speeches, you remember all his little tastes.

Are you twenty-three, or twenty-three months old? You don't even know basic drug interactions, yet you're so desperate to step into my shoes?"

Ethan slammed his hands on the table and stood up.

His chair tipped over.

"Hazel, have you lost your mind?"

He marched around the table, putting himself directly in front of Chloe—shielding her.

"She was just trying to help. Do you have to be so vicious?"

"Help?"

"Can you just—"

I slipped the platinum band off my left ring finger.

It was a simple, lightweight band, engraved with our wedding date on the inside.

I dropped it onto his plate, right on top of the pile of discarded onions.

"Enjoy the gala," I said. "Ethan, happy early divorce."

I turned and walked out.

As the door closed behind me, I heard Chloe cry out, "Ethan..." in a whimpering voice.

He didn't chase after me.