Chapter 2

The next few weeks passed in a blur of calculated detachment for Amelia.

Ethan and Jessica flaunted their renewed, now unobstructed, romance across Instagram.

Photos of them at exclusive restaurants, weekend getaways to Napa, charity galas where Jessica clung to Ethan' s arm, beaming.

Each post was a carefully curated performance of bliss, undoubtedly designed to provoke a reaction from Amelia.

In her past life, she would have dissolved into a puddle of tears, called her few friends for frantic commiserations, perhaps even staged a public confrontation.

Now, Amelia simply blocked their accounts.

Her friends, Sarah and Ben, noticed the change immediately.

"You're... calm," Sarah had said, bewildered, over coffee. "He' s plastering Jessica all over the internet, and you' re just... sipping your latte?"

Amelia had shrugged. "He can post whatever he wants. It has nothing to do with me anymore."

She focused on her art, sketches piling up, ideas for a fashion line, a textile business, things she' d dreamed of but suppressed.

The divorce proceedings moved slowly, deliberately on her part. She wanted no ties, no lingering financial entanglements.

The annual Caldwell Foundation gala, honoring Eleanor Caldwell' s philanthropic legacy, was an event Amelia had always dreaded.

In her past life, it was a night of public humiliation, of Ethan pointedly ignoring her while lavishing attention on Jessica, who always managed to attend as someone' s "plus one."

This year, reborn Amelia decided to attend.

Not as Ethan' s long-suffering wife, but as Eleanor' s granddaughter-in-law, to announce a student art scholarship in Eleanor' s name – something she' d always wanted to do.

She chose a simple, elegant black dress, a stark contrast to the glittering gowns favored by the Caldwell set.

Jessica Thorne was already there, of course, practically fused to Ethan's side, looking radiant in a crimson gown.

The elder Caldwells, Ethan' s aunts and uncles, who had always treated Amelia with polite disdain, greeted Jessica with effusive warmth.

"Jessica, darling, you look stunning!" Aunt Caroline gushed, air-kissing her. "So good to see you with Ethan, where you belong."

Amelia felt a familiar pang of outsider status, but it was distant, observational.

She was no longer vying for their approval.

Uncle Richard, a portly man with a booming voice, spotted Amelia near the entrance.

"Amelia? What are you doing here?" he asked, his tone accusatory. "Thought you'd have the decency to stay away, given the... circumstances."

His wife, a woman draped in diamonds, sniffed. "Honestly, some people have no shame."

The whispers started, a ripple of disapproval through the assembled guests.

Amelia kept her composure, her expression serene.

Jessica, sensing an opportunity, glided over, Ethan a reluctant shadow.

"Amelia," Jessica said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "I' m so surprised to see you. Are you... hoping for a reconciliation? Ethan has been so clear."

Her eyes, however, held a spark of triumph, a familiar malicious glint.

This was her stage, and Amelia was the unwelcome intruder.

In the past, Amelia would have risen to the bait, a sharp retort, a tearful defense.

Ethan finally spoke, his voice cold, devoid of any emotion.

"Amelia, this is a family event. Perhaps it would be best if you left."

He didn't look at her, his gaze fixed somewhere over her shoulder.

His words, meant to wound, barely registered. He was still playing by the old rules, expecting the old reactions.

He didn't understand that the game had changed because one of the players had quit.

Other family members chimed in, their voices a chorus of condemnation.

"She' s just trying to cause a scene."

"Eleanor would be so disappointed."

"Ethan deserves to be happy, finally."

The judgment washed over Amelia. She had heard it all before, in her nightmares and in her waking life.

This time, it was just noise.

Amelia finally spoke, her voice calm and clear, carrying surprisingly well in the sudden lull.

"I'm here to honor Eleanor," she said, looking directly at Ethan's uncle, then at the portrait of Eleanor that dominated the hall. "She was very kind to me. I'm announcing the Eleanor Caldwell Art Scholarship tonight."

A flicker of surprise, then consternation, crossed their faces. This was not the reaction they expected.

Ethan looked at her then, a strange, unreadable expression in his eyes.

Later, Amelia found herself in the quiet, private alcove where Eleanor' s memorial urn was displayed.

She placed a single white gardenia, Eleanor' s favorite, beside it.

"I'm sorry, Eleanor," she whispered, tears finally pricking her eyes. "I couldn't be what you wanted me to be for him. But I'll try to honor your memory in my own way."

A sense of peace, fragile but real, settled over her.

She would build her own life, her own legacy.

The soft swish of fabric announced Jessica's arrival.

"Touching," Jessica sneered, her voice sharp, all pretense of sweetness gone. She picked up the gardenia.

"Eleanor always did have a soft spot for strays."

Before Amelia could react, Jessica deliberately snapped the stem of the gardenia, then dropped the broken flower onto the polished marble floor.

"Oops," Jessica said, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "Clumsy me."

Amelia stared at the broken flower, then at Jessica. The peace shattered.