The Night Our Love Died

The lock on the door creaked and turned as my phone went dark. I was seated on the couch, my eyes on the signed papers lying on the coffee table.

Christopher came in. A faint trace of women's perfume clung to him. I recognized that scent. Rachel Riviera's favorite.

Christopher made his way to the coffee table and gave the papers a cursory glance. All he did was let out a short laugh.

"You certainly come up with new tricks fast, Natalie." He picked up the papers, crushed them in one hand without even skimming the contents, and tossed them into the trash.

"It was a hunger strike last week, and now you bring up divorce. What else would you do just to make me take your father's case? Suicide? How many times do I have to tell you, winning this case without any new evidence is nearly impossible!"

I looked at him, my heart calm. "This isn't a trick," I retorted with a tone cooler than I ever took with him. "This is serious. Sign the papers."

Christopher looked down at me as if he were above everything, above everyone. "Seriously, you can't even survive in this city without me. The party starts at eight tonight. Hotel Kebinsky."

He turned as if the conversation were already over and could not be bothered to spare me another second.

"You will attend Rachel's celebration. Go on the stage, apologize, and confess that you were delusional when you made a scene at the art exhibit. Do that, and my assistant will go through your father's case. This is your last chance."

The city witnessed a downpour seven days ago.

It was the day I got my hands on a crucial testimonial. That testimonial was proof my father was framed.

I ran as fast as my legs could take me and barged into Christopher's law firm, drenched.

I demanded to see him, but the receptionist stopped me. "Mr. Lutherson's at the art exhibit with Ms. Riviera. He's not taking any guests. Do you have an appointment, Ms. Shayman?"

An appointment just to see my own husband. The absurdity of it would have been laughable if it had not already destroyed me. But that rule had been Christopher's.

Rachel hated disturbances to her schedule, so her executive assistant was the one who planned Christopher's itinerary.

Even I had to go through the system and put in my application if I wanted to see him. Fewer than one out of ten applications was approved over the last five years. Christopher was always busy or Rachel's assistant made sure my appointment was at three in the morning.

That day, I waited outside the law firm for ten hours. Again and again, I texted Christopher. I begged quietly, "Please, just one look. Just one look is all I need."

…

It wasn't until ten at night that Christopher appeared.

His arm was around Rachel, and she was in a white, perfectly unsullied dress. I, on the other hand, was soaked and disheveled, but I didn't care. I wanted to charge right at him and show him the evidence.

But Christopher only frowned. Then, he turned away with Rachel, shielding her from the rain with his own body, and left without giving me even a second of his attention.

That same night, my father succumbed to the demons of prison and took his own life to prove his innocence.

My mind returned to the present. A special notification alarm buzzed. I unlocked my phone just in time to see Rachel posting an update.