The air in the restaurant was thick with tension, the clinking of crystal glasses ringing hollow against the backdrop of strained conversation. Eleanor tightened her grip on her wineglass, her knuckles whitening as her husbands words cut through the room like a blade.
*”I’ve been sick of you since our wedding night! You repulse me! Get away from me!”*
The words hung in the air, sharp and venomous, spoken not in private but in front of sixty guestsfriends, colleagues, familyall gathered to celebrate their second anniversary.
Eleanor had spent months planning this evening. The historic mansion-turned-restaurant, *The Gilded Pheasant*, had been booked, its stained-glass windows and antique chandeliers casting a warm glow over the meticulously arranged tables. She had insisted on the grandeur, despite James protests.
*”Why all the fuss? We could have just had a quiet dinner,”* he had muttered, scowling at the invitation list.
But she had wanted something unforgettable. After the car accident six months agothe one that had left her hospitalised for weeksshe had craved life, noise, celebration.
Now, standing before him in her deep violet gown, she watched as he drained another whiskey, his movements stiff, his eyes darting toward their companys chief accountant, Margaret Whitmore. Eleanor had noticed the glances all evening, the way Margarets hands trembled as she sipped her champagne, the way James avoided her gaze whenever Eleanor approached.
Her mother, Elizabeth, had pulled her aside earlier, concern lining her delicate features. *”Darling, James seems tense. Is everything alright?”*
*”He just doesnt like crowds,”* Eleanor had replied smoothly, though her pulse had quickened.
Then came the slow dancethe same song they had swayed to at their wedding. She had reached for him, hopeful.
*”Dance with me? Like we did two years ago?”*
His reaction had been immediatea flinch, a recoil. *”Eleanor, I said no. Are you mocking me?”*
And then, the eruption.
Margaret had fled the room. James had followed. Eleanor had found them in the empty corridor, their hushed voices snapping into silence as she approached.
*”Whats going on here?”*
*”Nothing,”* Margaret had stammered, her pearl necklace twisting between her fingers. *”Just discussing work.”*
*”At our anniversary?”*
James had glared. *”Enough, Eleanor!”*
She had waited for this moment. With a barely perceptible nod to the host, the lights dimmed. The enormous screen at the front of the room flickered to life.
Black-and-white footage from the hospital. Herself, unconscious, machines whirring softly. The date in the cornerthree months prior.
Then, the door opening. James and Margaret, creeping in like thieves.
*”Quiet,”* Margaret had whispered. *”What if she wakes up?”*
*”She wont,”* James had replied, voice dripping with certainty. *”The doctors said she has no chance.”*
The kiss that followedpassionate, hungryhad been captured in perfect clarity. Their whispers, their plans for her inheritance, their laughter at how perfectly it had all unfolded.
The room had erupted. Gasps. Curses. Her mothers cry of outrage.
James had paled, his fists clenching. *”This isthis isnt what it looks like!”*
Eleanor had smiled then, cold and calm. *”Isnt it?”*
The fallout had been swift.
By morning, James and Margaret had been dismissed from the company, their reputations in tatters. The legal proceedings had begundivorce, investigations. Though the police found insufficient evidence to prove the crash had been intentional, the damage was done.
Now, three months later, Eleanor sat in her fathers study, sipping Earl Grey as the late afternoon sun spilled through the windows.
*”Youre smiling,”* her father remarked, glancing up from his papers.
She touched her lips, surprised. *”I suppose I am.”*
For the first time in years, she felt light.
The courtroom battle loomed ahead, but she no longer feared it. James had called, begging for leniency, but she had hung up.
The truth had set her free.
And she had never been more ready for a new beginning.
