Chapter 7: Breaking point

Evelyn’s P.O.V

The party was at the Harpers’ home Michael and his wife, Lillian. It was her birthday, and every inch of their house screamed celebration. Candles, silk drapes, glittering dresses. The kind of night that smelled of expensive perfume and practiced laughter.

“Evelyn, Alfred, you made it,” Michael said, shaking Alfred’s hand with that overeager warmth rich men reserved for each other. “Lillian will be thrilled.”

Lillian turned, radiant and tipsy in a gold dress that caught the light every time she moved. “Eve, darling! You look stunning.”

I smiled, kissed her cheek. “Happy birthday, Lillian.”

She giggled, gripping my arm. “Come, have a drink. Alfred, I hope you brought your charming stories.”

He laughed, that public laugh everyone loved. “You know I never run out.”

We moved through the room like couple of the year. Smiles, handshakes, small talk about campaigns and charity luncheons. I stood beside him as the good wife should polished, patient, invisible when necessary.

The music was soft, the kind meant to fill silence without demanding attention. Glasses clinked. Someone laughed too loudly near the fireplace. I smiled when people spoke to me, let them believe I was listening. Alfred’s hand rested on the small of my back in practiced rhythm, just enough pressure to suggest closeness, not enough to mean it because my mind was filled with thoughts which only demanded distance

And then she appeared.

She was younger, maybe late twenties, tall and slim in a navy dress that looked more casual than it should have. The kind of effortless that takes hours. I caught Alfred watching her before I even knew who she was. The way his eyes trailed when she laughed, how his mouth twitched like he wanted to join in.

Lillian called me over to meet a neighbor, and when I turned back again, he was already by the woman’s side. His hand brushed her elbow as he spoke, familiar in a way that made my stomach twist.

I smiled through introductions, my face tight from holding it in place. I could hear him laughing behind me. The kind of laugh he hadn’t given me in years.

He introduced her later as Lena. A consultant, apparently. I smiled, shook her hand, and felt her pulse under my fingers steady, unbothered. Alfred’s hand brushed her elbow as he spoke, guiding her closer, like she was delicate.

He didn’t touch me once all night.

As the room swelled with laughter and the kind of music you can’t quite dance to, I watched him. Watched how easily he leaned in, how his voice softened when he spoke to her. Every movement of his mouth made my stomach turn.

“Evelyn, you okay?” someone asked beside me. I nodded, throat dry.

When I turned again, Alfred and Lena were gone.

I told myself not to care. Not here, not tonight. But my feet had already started moving. My pulse quickened. I excused myself politely “Just going to find Alfred” and moved through the crowd, scanning for his dark suit. I climbed upstairs looking for him, saw a door by the left and opened it.

Something inside me knew before I saw them.

He was standing too close, his hand against the wall beside her. She was laughing softly, head tilted up, her fingers grazing his chest. Then his hand slid lower, caught her waist, drew her nearer. Their foreheads touched.

I froze.

He whispered something I couldn’t hear, and then he kissed her. Not a peck on the jaw , it was slow, deliberate, lingering. Her fingers tangled in his hair, his thumb brushed her jaw.

I don’t know what sound left my throat, but it made them both turn.

For a heartbeat, none of us moved.

Then I was moving before I thought shoving the door to open wider, my heels scraping against the tile. “What the hell is this?” My voice cracked, loud enough to make people in the next room pause.

“Evelyn” Alfred started, but I cut him off.

“No! Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare say my name like that!”

The woman Lena backed away, her face pale. She murmured something that sounded like I’m sorry and hurried past me. I barely saw her leave.

“You son of a bitch,” I said, shaking, my hands trembling so hard I almost couldn’t point at him. “You can’t even keep it private anymore?”

He reached for me, tried to calm me, that same politician’s tone he used on reporters. “Evelyn, lower your voice. People are…”

“People are what? Watching?” I laughed, sharp, broken. “Good. Let them watch. Maybe they’ll see what a fucking liar and whore you are.”

His jaw tightened. “Enough.”

“Enough?” I moved closer, jabbing his chest with my finger. “You think this is enough? I gave up everything for you, Alfred. Everything! I built this life, this image, this bullshit—so you could stand there looking respectable while I rot quietly behind your smiles.”

“Evelyn..”

“No! Don’t you Evelyn me!” I could feel the burn behind my eyes, my throat closing, my whole body vibrating. “I try to hide your shame every day. I cover it up. Your mess? I wipe it clean. I lie to everyone including myself. I tell myself it’s stress, it’s loneliness, it’s temporary. But it’s not, is it? You just can’t stop are you cursed?”

He tried to speak again, reaching for me, and I slapped his hand away so hard my palm stung. “Don’t touch me!”

People had started to gather at the doorway. Faces some I recognized, some I didn’t -stared like they were watching a scene from a show. His PA, Mark hovered near the corner, whispering to someone, unsure whether to step in. Lawson wasn’t here to cover his shame tonight

Alfred’s face went cold. “You’re making a fool of yourself.”

I laughed again, a sound that didn’t belong to me. “You made me a fool long before this, Alfred.”

He stepped forward, lowering his voice. “You’ve had too much to drink. Let’s go home.”

“I haven’t had nearly enough.” I pulled off my shoes and threw them at him , one after the other, the sound echoing through the room. “You think I’m crazy, right? That’s easier for you to believe than the truth that I’m done pretending.”

Mark rushed in front of me , trying to hold me back

“Stay out of this!” I snapped.

Alfred’s hand came up again, placating. “Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” My chest heaved. “You don’t get to calm me down, not after this, not after her. My voice cracked. You enjoy humiliating me why?”

I started to back away, but my body wouldn’t obey reason. I shoved at him, hit his chest again and again, my nails scraping fabric. He caught my wrists, not hard, but enough to make me freeze.

“I am done with this,” I said quietly. “I am so done.”

I stopped moving. He just looked at me and I hope he saw how broken I was. Then he released me slowly, adjusting his cuff like we were just another couple arguing about dinner.

“I think we should go,” he said.

I stared at him, at the man I’d built my life around, and for the first time I saw nothing familiar in his face.

“Don’t talk to me,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Then I turned, brushing past the people who still stood there pretending not to look. My hair stuck to my skin, my makeup ruined, my breath shallow and burning.

When I reached downstairs , I saw them , Lilian, the birthday girl, her husband beside her, guests still holding glasses of champagne and small smiles. The moment they saw me, the noise faltered. I must’ve looked insane hair loose, eyes swollen, one strap of my dress slipping off my shoulder.

“Evelyn?” Lilian asked, setting down her drink. “What happened? Why do you look…”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My mouth wouldn’t move, my tongue felt like paper. I just kept walking. Past her. Past all of them. I could feel every stare on my back, could almost hear the whispers forming before the

I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to and I didn’t care who was watching, or where I was. When I stepped outside into the night and felt something split open inside me a quiet, violent release that wasn’t grief yet, just the start of it.

And as I walked down the path, barefoot, shaking, my heart beating against my ribs like it wanted out, one thought kept repeating in my head

I was done being the quiet wife.