Chapter 5 GILDED CAGE

Off the crystal glasses glinted the chandelier's light, shedding shadows across the marble floor. I stood alone beside our cavernous living room, with a glass of virgin champagne in my hand. The grandfather clock tickled noisily, reminding me of each hour spent in solitude at each tick.

"Mrs. Ellison?" From my reverie, the voice startled me. "Your approval on the hors d'oeuvres for tonight's gala is needed by the caterers."

Mechanically, I nodded, as I followed the housekeeper to the kitchen. The staff was busy moving around and getting prepared for yet another social event I feared. As I went through delicacies I couldn't pronounce, I thought of my old studio apartment littered with half-finished canvases and the scent of turpentine.

"Everything looks so perfect," I murmured and quickly excused myself.

As I retreat to our bedroom, one larger than that of my childhood home, I immediately see myself in the ornate mirror. Well-designed dress, perfect makeup, and hair in place. I found it difficult to recognize the woman staring back at Emma.

Just then, my phone buzzed, it was a text from Jack: "I am stuck in a meeting, and might be late for the gala. I am so sorry, you will be fine without me, right?"

"Not again..." immediately, my heart sank. Cheerfully, I typed back, "Yeah! Of course," with a complete smile of emoji, a masterpiece of deception.

Preparing to face the crowd alone, my mind went back to the last time I picked up a paintbrush, my fingers hitching for a feel of it dearly, wanting to create something, or anything, just to fill the emptiness growing inside me.

At full swing of the gala, I descended the grand staircase. Almost all eyes turned to me, and I could hear whispers following in my wake. I managed to put on a smile, the perfect hostess disguise in place.

"Emma, darling!" A voice coming from behind, Vivian Ashworth, the self-imposed queen of our social circle, thrown- kiss my cheeks. "Where is that handsome husband of yours?"

"Jack is very busy at work," I replied smoothly. "You should know how it is with CEOs."

Vivian's eyes gleaned, a feeling of pity. "Oh, of course. Getting married to such an important man must be so difficult."

Her words came stinging more than she knew. Excusing myself, I weaved through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries on autopilot. Every conversation felt indented, forcing a laugh.

Just after that, I found myself in Jack's study, seeking a moment of rest, when my gaze fell on a framed photo on his desk: Just us on our wedding day, much young and so in love. I picked it up and began tracing Jack's face with my finger.

"I miss you," whispering to the image.

"Emma?" Being startled by Jack's voice. I turned to find him in the doorway, so perfectly looking in his tuxedo notwithstanding how late it was.

"I thought you wouldn't make it," I said, hating the shake of relief in my voice.

Jack crossed the room and kissed my cheek. 'I am so sorry for coming late. It was more difficult with the Chen account than we thought."

Am used to every one of your vague explanations, I nodded. "The party is still going on so tense. "Why don't you make an appearance?"

With a sigh, Jack loosened his tie. "You know what, I think I will be skipping it. I am e exhausted. Do you mind wrapping things up, do you?"

The disappointment settled in my chest, a thing I am very used to. "Of course not. Go take a rest."

Squeezing my hand gratefully, he headed to our bedroom, as I watched him go, feeling the chasm in us stretching even further.

I returned to the party, to play my role perfectly, the gracious hostess, and supportive wife. But with every passing moment, I see myself more as a stranger in my own home.

I found myself alone at the grand entrance, just as the last guest departed. The house looks cavernous resounding with ghosts of laughter, and music disappearing.

With each step of mine, heavy and exhausted, I climbed the staircase slowly. I paused outside our bedroom door to hear Jack's steady breathing. He is already deep sleeping.

I didn't join him, but walked to the room at the end of the hall, my abandoned art studio. I held onto the doorknob with my hand, hesitated, then pushed it open.

The room was dark, a symbol of abandonment, sheets suspended over easels like shrouds. Dust particles danced in the moonlight streaming through the windows. I moved slowly through the space, my fingers trailing over covered canvases, a reminder of the joy that once filled this room.

I had an unfinished piece lying in the corner, I uncovered it. It was a self-portrait I started with in those early days of our marriage, when the hope was still bright and burning. With eyes full of promise and passion, the woman on the canvas gazed back at me, a sheer contrast to the reflection I had earlier seen.

I picked up a brush with a familiar weight, but yet looked foreign in my hand. Just then, I was tempted to add to the painting, a reminder of recapturing the spark.

I stood there with brush poising over the canvas, realizing not know how to finish. The woman in the painting looks much of a stranger to me now, far off from the dreams I once held.

Finally, as I set the brush down, in a gesture, tears started streaming from my eyes. I covered the canvas once more, and I left the studio, closing the door softly behind me.

In our bedroom, Jack was sleeping unaware of the chaos inside of me. I quietly slipped into bed beside him, so careful not to wake him up. I remember a time when we would stir at each other, he reaching for me instinctively. But now it is of no concern to him, he didn't even move.

Staring at the ceiling, the enormous size of our bed, mirrored the gap growing between us. However, in this glide cage of our making, I had never felt much alone.

At daybreak, the light of the sun pierced through the curtains, and I made a vow silently to myself. Something needs to change. I would not keep living this half-life, a shadow of the woman I was.

As Jack's alarm rang, he stirred beside me, and I wondered if I was brave enough to break loose. Or if I was doomed to remain engaged in this golden prison of our own making?

Jack stretched his arm across me to switch off the alarm, his arm brushing against mine. My breath ceased, hoping he would linger, or turn to pull me close like he was at our early marriage. Instead, he simply rolled away, swinging his legs over the sides of the bed.

Just then, Jack muttered: "Big day today,", more to himself than me. "The Chen account..."

I clutched the silk sheets to my chest while sitting, and I said, "Jack, I was thinking, if maybe, we could have dinner together alone tonight?"

While selecting a tie, he paused, and glanced at me with distraction, frowning. "Tonight? I don't know Emma. The stage deal is at a very critical stage. Maybe next week, some other time?"

"Of course. I understand." The normal familiar ache of disappointment, just as it bloomed in my chest.

I watched Jack dress and realized that I did not understand anything about our life together again.

I followed him downstairs. Breakfast had already been served by our housekeeper. Jack only gulped the coffee but didn't taste the gourmet spread before him.

"I might not be at home earlier, maybe late," he said, checking his watch. "Don't wait for me."

Just as he turned to leave, something inside me broke, "Jack, wait, I said."

Paused at the door, his eyebrows raised in question.

"Just as..." "I swallowed hard, forcing the word out. "Do you even realize my presence anymore?"

Jack softened his expression, feeling a bit of emotion of the man I fell in love with shining through, hmm... He crossed the room and took my hands into his. "Em, of course, I do, I see you. You are my wife, and I love you."

His words were meaningless to me, like a rehearsed line in a play we had been performing for very long.

"Please, look at me, Jack. Please look," gesturing to the opulent room around us. "I don't think we are happy. Is this our dream after we got married?"

I saw his face crossed with shadow, his usual confidence being replaced with uncertainty, making me feel he might actually engage or finally hear my plea.

A buzz from his phone shattered the fragile moment between us, Jack's attention was immediately drawn to his phone screen, his eyes scanning.

"I am sorry, Emma. I have to leave. We might talk later, okay?"

Before I knew, he was gone already, the echo of the closing door caused the empty house to vibrate.

I froze to the floor, my chest crushed by the weight of unspoken words. It can't continue going on like this, something had to give.

I encouraged myself and marched up to my abandoned studio. I threw the door open, pulling the sheet of my undone self-portrait. Staring back at me was the woman on the canvas, her eyes flamed and long forgotten.

I picked up a brush, dipping it in vibrant red paint. With a single, bold stroke, I slashed across the canvas, obliterating the old image.

I trembled with my hands as I stepped back, surprised by my action, but beneath the surprise, I was flickered back to life by a long dormant spark of excitement.

The truth is that I could continue living this half-life and gradually fading away in this glided cage, or I could reclaim myself, even if it required me to give all in me.

Again, I poised as I raised the brush to make another stroke, a noise from downstairs got me frozen in place. Footsteps. A door was opened and closed.

"Emma?" It was Jack's voice calling out, he came unexpectedly and jarred in the middle of the day. "Em," are you at home? I need to tell you something."

I was still holding the brush, as I watched it slip from my fingers, clattering the floor. The red paint splashed like drops of blood, clear evidence of the choice that lay before me.

What is it that could be so important to Jack, making him come home in the middle of the day? And more importantly, what is it that he wants to tell me? Would I be ready to hear it?