I feel utterly embarrassed to bring you to the dinner, Mark mumbled, eyes fixed on his mobile. Therell be peopleproper peoplethere.
I stood by the fridge, clutching a carton of milk. Twelve years of marriage, two children. And now I was a source of shame.
Ill wear the black dress, I saidthe one you bought me yourself.
Its not the dress, he finally looked up. Its you. Youve let yourself go. Your hair, your face you just look all wrong. Vadim will be there with his wife, shes a stylist. You know what I mean.
So I wont go, then.
Brilliant. Ill tell them youre running a temperature. Not one person will bat an eyelid.
He headed for the shower, leaving me standing in the middle of the kitchen. The children were fast asleep in the other roomWilliam, ten, and Grace, eight. The mortgage, bills, parents eveningsmy whole self had dissolved into this house, and now my own husband was mortified by me.
Has he lost his mind? piped up Emma, my hairdresser friend, looking at me as though Id just told her the world was ending.
Embarrassed to bring his wife to a dinner? Who does he think he is?
Warehouse manager, he got a promotion.
And now his wifes not good enough? Emma slammed the kettle on, her movements sharp and angry. Listen to meremember what you used to do before the kids?
I taught at a school.
Not your job. The jewellery. You made those bead necklacesIve still got that one with the blue stone. People ask about it all the time.
I rememberedthose evenings spent threading beads while Mark still watched me with a spark in his eye.
That was ages ago.
So what? You can do it again, Emma said, shuffling closer. Whens this dinner?
Saturday.
Perfect. Youre coming to mine tomorrow. Ill do hair and makeup. Well ring Oliviashes got some gorgeous dresses. As for jewellery, you sort that yourself.
Emma, he said I shouldnt
Oh, sod what he says. Youre going. And trust me, hell be quaking in his boots when you walk in.
Olivia brought a plum-coloured dresslong, off-the-shoulder. We spent an hour pinning, tucking, making it fit just right.
Youll need something special for this colour, Olivia mused, circling me. Silver is wrong. Golds not quite it either.
I rummaged in my old jewellery box. At the bottom, wrapped in a scrap of cloth, was a set: necklace and earrings. Blue aventurine, strung by my own hand. Id made them eight years ago, for a special occasion that never arrived.
My word, Olivia breatheddid you make these?
Yes. Myself.
Emma styled my hair in soft waves; the makeup subtle but striking. I slipped into the dress, fastened the weighty stones around my neck. Cold, steadying.
Go see for yourself, Olivia nudged me toward the mirror.
The woman staring back wasnt the one whod scrubbed floors and stirred stews for twelve years. She was meas I once was.
The restaurant was perched along the river. The room buzzed with chatter, music, dinner jackets, and evening gowns. Arriving late, as planned, the room hushed for a few seconds.
Mark stood at the bar, laughing at someones joke, but when he saw me, his face froze. I walked right past, head high, to a table at the back. My hands rested calmly on my knees, my back straight as a rod.
Excuse me, is this seat taken?
A man, about forty-five, in a grey suit, sharp eyes.
Its free, I said.
Im Oliver. Business partner of Vadimsin the bakery game, actually. And you?
Catherine. Warehouse managers wife, I said, with a wry smile.
He looked at me, and then at the necklace.
Aventurine? Handmade, I can tell. My mother collected stoneshard to find pieces like that.
I made it myself.
Really? Oliver leaned closer, admiring the weave. This is superb work. Do you sell them?
No. I stay home with the kids.
Strange. Hands like yours ought to be creating, not wasting away at home.
He spent the whole evening beside me. We talked about gems, about creative work, about how people lose themselves in routine.
He asked me to dance, brought glasses of prosecco, made me laugh. I spotted Mark across the room, his face darkening every minute.
When it was time to leave, Oliver offered to walk me to my car.
Catherine, if you ever fancy making jewellery again, give me a ring, he said, passing me his card. I know some people who would love such workreally love it.
I tucked the card into my bag and nodded.
Back home, Mark lasted barely five minutes before erupting.
What the hell was that tonight? The entire evening with that Oliver! Did you see people staring? Everyone saw my wife draping herself over a stranger!
I wasnt draping. I was talking.
Talking! You danced with him three times! Three! Vadim pulled me aside to ask what was going on. It was humiliating!
You’re always so easily embarrassed, I sighed, slipping off my heels at the door. Ashamed to bring me along. Ashamed if they look at me. Is there anything youre not ashamed of?
Shut it. You think a bit of a frock turns you into someone? Youre no one. A housewife. Living off me, spending my money, and now swanning about like youre royalty.
Once, Id have cried. Slipped away to bed, pressed my face to the wall. But something inside me snappedor maybe, it finally fell into place.
Weak men fear strong wives, I said softly, almost calm. Youre insecure, Mark. Youre scared that Ill see how small you really are.
Out. Get out now.
Im filing for divorce.
He glared, the anger in his eyes turning to confusion, for the first time.
Where will you go with two kids? You cant survive on bits of jewellery.
I will.
In the morning, I took out the business card and rang Oliver.
He didnt rush me. We met in a café to chat about the work. He told me about a friend who ran a gallery selling handmade crafts. That people were bored of mass-produced thingswhat I made was valued.
Youre gifted, Catherine. True talent and taste together are rare.
I started working at nightaventurine, jasper, carnelian. Necklaces, bracelets, earrings. Oliver took them to the gallery. By the end of the week, everything was sold. Orders began piling up.
Does Mark know?
Hes not speaking to me at all.
And the divorce?
Ive found a solicitor. Were starting proceedings.
Oliver pitched in quietly, without heroics. Just sharing contacts, helping me find a rented flat. When I packed my bags, Mark stood in the doorway, laughing.
Youll be back in a weekin tears. Youll crawl back.
I snapped the suitcase shut and walked out without a word.
Six months passed. Two-bedroom flat on the edge of town, the kids, my work. Orders kept coming. The gallery invited me to exhibit. I started an online page, uploading photos. The followers grew.
Oliver would visit, bringing the children books, ringing to check in. He never pressured, never pushedhe was simply there.
Mum, do you like him? Grace asked me once.
I do.
We like him too. He doesnt shout.
A year later, Oliver proposed. No one knee, no rosesjust over dinner he said,
I want you all to be with me. All three of you.
I was ready.
Two years on. Mark, now unloading lorries at a warehouse, after Vadim learned through a colleague about his behaviour at home and sacked him. A rented room, mounting debts, alone.
He saw us through the jewellers window.
Me, in a cream coat, hair styled, the old aventurine necklace on my neck. Oliver held my hand. William and Grace giggled nearby, telling stories.
Mark paused at the window, watching us pile into Olivers car. Oliver held the door for me. I smiled.
Mark caught his reflection in the glassworn jacket, tired face, empty eyes. Hed lost a queen. And Id learned how to live without him.
That was his greatest punishment: realising too late what he had
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