Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The Disappointment 

ISABELLA

By seven, the food was ready and warming in the oven, as I sent him another text.

"Everything's prepared whenever you're ready. Hope your day is going well."

By eight, I lit the candles and poured myself a glass of wine, trying to use it to calm myself as I held onto the hope that he was on his way.

By nine, the candles had burned halfway down. I'd switched to water, not wanting to be anything less than perfect when he arrived. The food was beginning to dry out despite my efforts to keep it ready and perfect.

By ten, I'd blown out the candles to preserve what was left of them. The soufflé had deflated completely and it had turned into a mess on the counter. I took a shaky breath and tried his phone again. Still voicemail.

By eleven, I was beginning to feel desperate at this point. I sent another text: "Max, please. It's our anniversary. Where are you?"

At midnight, I heard it. The sound of his car driving in the driveway accompanied by laughter.

Laughter that I recognized immediately as it seemed to slurred by alcohol.

I remained frozen at the dining room table, surrounded by the cold remains of my romantic dinner, listening to them stumble through the front door.

"Shh," Max's voice carried clearly through the house, sounding playful in a way that he never did with me. "You'll wake the whole pack."

Pack? What an odd choice of words.

"Let them hear," Cassandra replied boldly. "It's not like she doesn't know her place by now."

I should have fled to my room, preserving what little dignity remained. Instead, I sat paralyzed as they came into view.

Max had her pinned against the foyer wall, his mouth on her throat in a way that made her arch against him with pleasure. The sounds she made sounded barely human. It was more like purrs than moans.

They didn't notice me at first, their eyes only each other. Then Cassandra's green eyes opened and locked with mine over Max's shoulder. She didn't look surprised to see me there. Only gave me a slow satisfied smile that told me all I needed to know.

"We have an audience, my love," she purred, the endearment, being deliberate sending a blade to my heart.

Max turned, hearing those words from his mistress.

When he saw me sitting there surrounded by the mess that was our anniversary dinner, irritation replaced the passion that was present on his face.

"Isabella? What are you doing up?"

"It's our anniversary," I whispered, my voice sounding so low I could barely hear myself.

Something passed across his features. It might have been guilt, or maybe just annoyance at being reminded of obligations he'd rather forget.

"Right. That." He straightened his tie, looking more composed as he cleared his throat. "I forgot."

Cassandra pressed herself against him again, her eyes on me as she spoke to him. "You never mentioned an anniversary, darling."

"Because it doesn't matter," he said flatly, as he looked back at me, not even an ounce of shame in his eyes. "Look, Isabella, I'll make it up to you later. Right now, I'm busy."

"You got my messages," I said. It wasn't a question. I could see his phone's notification light blinking through his jacket pocket.

He shrugged cruelly as he muttered. "Had more important things to deal with."

Cassandra's laugh was mocking me as she giggled.

 "Much more important," she agreed, running her manicured nails down his chest in a gesture that screamed possession.

I stood on unsteady legs, as I started gathering the plates. "I'll clean this up."

"Good," Max said, already guiding Cassandra toward the stairs. "Don't wait up."

As they ascended, I heard Cassandra speak loudly: "Let's use your room tonight. I want to show you what I learned from the Alpine pack."

Alpine pack? Another strange phrase I didn't understand.

His room. Our former bedroom. The one that shared a wall with my tiny guest room.

I knew it was intentional. Cassandra wanted me to hear everything.

I climbed the stairs like a woman walking to her execution, each step heavier than the last. In my small room, I sat on the edge of the narrow bed and stared at nothing as the first sounds began filtering through the thin wall.

But these weren't ordinary sounds of passion. There was something animalistic about them—growls mixed with moans, and underneath it all, that strange purring I'd heard downstairs.

The headboard in the other room began to shake as I covered my ears, but it wasn't helping as I could still hear everything.

Tears came silently at first, then in great sobs I muffled against my pillow. How did I become this? 

The sounds intensified, and I knew Cassandra was performing for my benefit, knowing this would hurt me even more.

I stumbled to my tiny bathroom and turned on the shower, hoping the sound of rushing water would drown out my humiliation.

 Sinking to the cold tile floor, I hugged my knees and rocked slightly, trying to get myself together.

My eyes fell on the medicine cabinet that was in the bathroom. Inside the cabinets were sleeping pills that had been prescribed after my first breakdown, after losing my child and having old blood pressure. I'd rationed them carefully, saving them for the worst nights.

Tonight qualified.

With trembling hands, I removed the bottle from the cabinet as I turned it over in my palm..the pills inside were rattling like tiny bones. How many would it take? Would it hurt? Would anyone even miss me?

Max would probably throw a party. Cassandra would finally have everything she wanted. The boys might ask about me once or twice, but the children were resilient. They'd forget their failed nanny soon enough.

I unscrewed the cap with difficulty, my injured wrist protesting. The pills were small and white, innocent-looking things that promised an end to this constant ache in my chest. It would be so easy—just swallow them and drift away from the pain, from the crushing weight of being unwanted, unloved, unnecessary.

"Do it," I whispered to my reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror. The woman staring back looked like a stranger—hollow-eyed, broken, defeated. "Just end it."