Chapter 3

A week later, Chloe decided it was time for me to have a "family dinner." She said it would be good for me to be around people. I knew it was just another stage for their performance. We went to her mother Eleanor's house, a large, overly decorated home that smelled of potpourri and old money.

Eleanor Davis greeted us at the door, her face a mask of practiced sympathy. She hugged me carefully, as if I were made of glass.

"Oh, Ethan, you poor, dear boy," she cooed, patting my arm. "We've all been so worried. But Chloe is going to take such good care of you."

Mark was already there, swirling a glass of whiskey by the fireplace. He gave me a somber nod. "Good to see you up and about, Ethan."

The whole evening was a masterclass in duplicity. They sat me in a plush armchair, placing a drink in my hand. Chloe and her mother chattered away about wedding plans, their voices bright and cheerful, while Mark watched them, a proprietary smirk playing on his lips. I could see him from the corner of my eye, his gaze lingering on Chloe's body as she moved around the room.

The conversation eventually turned to me.

"It's just such a tragedy," Eleanor said, shaking her head. "A man in his prime, a talented architect, and now..." She let the sentence hang in the air, her meaning clear. And now he's useless.

Mark took a sip of his whiskey and chimed in, his voice laced with mock concern. "Well, at least you won't have to look at the garish wallpaper in this room, Ethan. Every cloud has a silver lining, right?"

A heavy silence fell over the room. The joke was so cruel, so blatant in its contempt, that even Chloe seemed momentarily shocked.

"Mark, don't say that," she said, her voice a little too sharp. She quickly tried to smooth it over, forcing a laugh. "He's just joking, Ethan. You know how Mark is."

But I saw the look that passed between them. Mark's eyes challenged her, and after a moment, a small, complicit smile touched her lips. She was annoyed not by the cruelty of the joke, but by the fact that he had said it out loud.

I decided to test the waters. I kept my voice even, my face a blank canvas.

"It's strange," I said, turning my head in Chloe's direction. "The last thing I remember seeing clearly was your face. You were wearing that blue dress, the one you wore on our first anniversary."

I watched her closely. A flicker of panic crossed her face. Her smile faltered. She and Mark had been together on our first anniversary. She had told me she was visiting her sick aunt.

"Oh, honey," she said, recovering quickly. "My memory is such a blur from that day. I was so scared. I can't even remember what I was wearing."

It was a clumsy lie. She loved that dress. She knew exactly what I was talking about.

Eleanor, sensing the tension, jumped in to change the subject. "Well, what matters now is the future! Chloe, have you decided on the caterer? I know a wonderful service, a bit pricey, but we have to make this wedding perfect for Ethan. He deserves it."

Chloe seized the lifeline. "Yes, Mother. Mark was just helping me look at some options. He has such wonderful taste." She directed a warm smile at Mark, who preened under the attention. She was trying to placate me with talk of the wedding, with material things, as if a fancy party could paper over the gaping wound of her betrayal.

I just sat there, nodding along to their empty chatter. The initial shock and rage I had felt were beginning to cool, settling into a hard, dense feeling of disgust. It was like watching a play where I was the only one in the audience who knew the actors were frauds. Their lies, their fake sympathy, their secret, smug glances-it was all so transparent to me now. The pain was still there, but it was being overshadowed by a cold, clear purpose. I was no longer a victim in their story. I was the author of its final, devastating chapter.