The room was thick with tension, the air almost unbreathable. Oliver stood in the middle of the bedroom, already dressed in his formal suit, nervously adjusting his perfectly knotted tie. His voice was quiet, almost pleading. Eleanor didnt turn around. She kept her eyes fixed on her reflection in the full-length mirror, meticulously applying a deep wine-red lipstick with surgical precision. The dark burgundy silk of her dress clung to her figure, leaving little to the imagination yet managing to look elegant and refined. This was an outfit for a woman who knew her worth. An outfit for battle.
Whats wrong with him, Oliver? Her voice was calm, even, without a hint of irritation. It was that very composure that frightened him the most. He was used to her outbursts, their heated arguments that they could laugh off by evening. But this icy serenity was something new, something foreign.
Well you know Mum. She might think its a bit much, he finally settled on a word that didnt sound like an outright accusation.
Eleanor finished her makeup, set the lipstick aside, and slowly turned to face him. A faint, cold smile played on her lips.
Your mother would find a burqa too revealing if I wore it. Or have you forgotten her phone call to Aunt Margaret last week? Whisperingloud enough for you to hearabout how I was flirting shamelessly with our eighty-two-year-old neighbour, Mr. Harris, who can barely tell me apart from the postman?
Oliver flinched as if struck. He remembered that conversation. Hed stood in the hallway, pretending to search for his keys while his mother delivered her venomous monologue in the kitchen. Hed just walked away, later telling Eleanor she should rise above it.
Ellie, please. Not tonight. Its her fifty-fifth birthday. Lets just get through this evening, all right? For me. Ignore her, yeah?
*Ignore her.* Those words had become the refrain of their last two years. Ignore it when his mother questioned her cooking in front of guests. Ignore the anniversary gift of *How to Keep Your Husband Happy*. Ignore the endless snide remarks, the sideways glances, the outright lies Margaret Windsor delighted in spreading through the family. Eleanor had ignored it allswallowed it, endured it. For him. For Oliver, who stared at her with the wounded eyes of a puppy torn between mother and wife.
But something had snapped. Maybe a month ago. Maybe a week. Maybe this morning, when shed chosen this dress. Shed looked in the mirror and realised she couldnt do it anymore. Couldnt be the *bigger person*. The cup of patience hadnt just overflowedit had frozen into a sharp, jagged blade.
Fine, darling, she said, suddenly soft. Oliver exhaled in relief. I wont react. Ill be sweet and polite. Ill smile at your aunts, who think Im a harlot. Ill kiss your mother and wish her many happy returns.
She stepped closer, smoothing an invisible wrinkle on his lapel. He moved to embrace her, but her body was rigid, like a taut wire.
Thank you, love, he whispered. I knew youd understand.
Eleanor met his gaze. There was no warmth in her eyes. Only cold, clear calculation.
Ill even make a toast. Something lovely. About family, loyalty, honesty. I think your mother will appreciate that.
She picked up her clutch, the sharp scent of her perfume cutting through the air. Oliver smiled, hearing only reconciliation in her words. He didnt know she wasnt walking into that party to surrender. She was walking in to execute. And she had no intention of being the victim.
The restaurant Margaret had chosen for her birthday was drowning in gilded excessheavy chandeliers, stiff white linens, the air thick with the mingled scents of perfume and rich food. To Eleanor, it felt suffocating, as if she were breathing in concentrated self-satisfaction. Relatives she barely recognised swarmed the table, handing Margaret bouquets with glued-on smiles, wishing her health. Oliver beamed, basking in the celebration as if it were his own.
Eleanors role in this carefully staged play was silent ornamentation. She sat with perfect posture, exchanged polite smiles, and endured the sticky, judgmental stares. There was Aunt Margarets friend, eyeing her dress with disapproval before whispering to her neighbour. There was Olivers cousins wife, inching closer to her husband as if shielding him from corruption.
The poison Margaret had dripped into their ears had done its work. Eleanor was the outsider. The dangerous one. The woman of questionable morals they tolerated only for Olivers sake. And heher husband, her protectorsaw none of it. Or pretended not to. Too busy playing the dutiful son, upholding the illusion of a perfect family his mother had so carefully constructed.
After the third course, the hired MCa portly man with an overbearing voicerapped the microphone for silence.
And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment weve all been waiting for! A few words from our guest of honour, the queen of the eveningMargaret Windsor!
The room erupted in applause. Margaret rose from her seat at the head of the table, resplendent in gold-sequinned champagne silk, every inch the regal matriarch. Her gaze swept the room, lingering pointedly on Eleanor.
My dearest family and friends, she began, her voice rich with practised warmth. Looking around this room, my heart is full. What is family, if not our fortress? Our safe harbour, where we are loved unconditionally. But every fortress needs a strong foundation. And that foundation is *honesty*. *Loyalty*. *Purity of heart*.
She paused, letting the words sink in. Beneath the table, Oliver squeezed Eleanors hand. He thought it was reassurance. He didnt realise it was a jailers grip.
The backbone of any family is its women, Margaret continued, her voice hardening. Their wisdom, their virtue, their devotion shape our future. Im proud to say our family upholds these values. So I raise my glass to *true* family valuesto loyalty and integrity!
The applause was thinner this time. Women glanced at their laps; men cleared their throats. The toast was too pointed, too obviously a public flogging, even without names. Oliver exhaled, smiling at Eleanor: *See? Its fine.*
But the MC, caught up in the moment, wasnt done.
What a speech! Now, lets hear from the lovely bride of Margarets sonEleanor, come on up!
Oliver stiffened. Every eye in the room locked onto Eleanorsome curious, some gleeful, all waiting. She rose gracefully, picking up her wine glass. Her smile was serene, almost gentle. The smile of someone about to detonate a bomb.
Dearest Margaret, she began, her clear voice cutting through the murmurs. The room fell silent. Oliver relaxed slightly, mistaking her tone for deference.
I want to thank you. Truly. For your *relentless* concern. For how deeply you care about this familys reputation. *Mine*, especially. Few mothers-in-law invest so much time in their sons wife.
A ripple of confusion. Was she sincere? Or was that edge? Margarets smile tightened. She sensed the trap but couldnt see it yet.
You spoke so beautifully about honesty and loyalty, Eleanor continued, her voice gaining steel. I couldnt agree more. They *are* the foundation. Without them, a family is just a house of cards, waiting to collapse at the first gust of wind. So Ill drink to thatto *honesty*. The honesty youre so fond of preaching behind my back.
She paused, letting the silence thicken. Waiters froze. The background music cut off mid-note. In the suffocating quiet, her next words landed like a hammer.
Since youre so certain Im a slut, why dont you tell everyone here *exactly* who you cheated with to conceive your son? You *told* me yourself when you were drunkhe isnt your husbands, is he?
Time stopped.
Margarets face drained of colour, then flushed puce, then grey. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream. She clutched her chestnot in pain, but as if trying to contain the explosion.
Oliver turned to stone. He stared at Eleanor like shed grown a second head.
Beside Margaret, her husbanda quiet, faded manslowly looked between his wife and son. His face aged twenty years in an instant.
Eleanor sipped her wine, met Margarets gaze, and set the empty glass down with a deliberate *clink*. The only sound in the room.
Unlike you, she added, icy calm, Ive been faithful to my husband.
Then the dam broke.
Margaret let out a guttural shriek, lunging across the table, nails raking for Eleanors face. Her husband and a cousin caught her, restraining her thrashing limbs. The party was over.
Oliver, snapping out
