Clementine POV:
Dinner was a spectacle. Eleanor, my mother-in-law, tapped her wine glass with a fork. "To family, and to the hope of many grandchildren!" she announced, her gaze pointedly lingering on Braden and me.
My father-in-law chimed in, "Yes, Clementine, Braden tells us you're finally ready to settle down, perhaps take a step back from that demanding career of yours. You know, we always worried your work would make you rethink motherhood." He chuckled, a false, booming sound.
Braden, seated beside me, frowned subtly. He reached under the table and squeezed my knee, a performative gesture of support. "Mother, Father, that's unfair. Clementine has been through so much with the IVF. We all know it's been a challenging journey, and it's certainly not her fault we haven't conceived yet." He tried to sound protective, but his words felt hollow, a carefully rehearsed script.
Eleanor merely laughed, a light, dismissive sound. "Of course, dear. We just want what's best for you both. A big, happy family, just like Braden always dreamed of."
I shrugged, a nonchalant gesture that belied the fury churning inside me. I didn't bother to respond. What was there to say? My life, my choices, my body – they were all just fodder for their family narrative.
After dinner, Leo, Isabella' s son, discovered an old photo album. He brought it to the living room, excitedly flipping through the pages. The family gathered around, laughing, reminiscing. I watched from a distance as they pointed at photos, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of shared memories.
Almost every photo of Braden from his teenage years featured Isabella. There she was, at prom, at family vacations, at holiday gatherings. Always by his side.
"Oh, look!" Eleanor exclaimed, pointing at a picture of a younger Braden gazing adoringly at Isabella. "Braden, you were so smitten! He had a crush on Isabella for a decade, didn't he, dear?" she asked, turning to Isabella.
Isabella blushed prettily, batting her eyelashes. "Oh, Aunt Eleanor, you're embarrassing him!" Then she looked up at me, a flicker of cold disdain in her eyes, before dropping her gaze, feigning shyness. "I hope Clementine doesn't mind us reminiscing."
Mind? My mind screamed. Mind that you're sitting in my in-laws' living room, with my husband, looking through old photos that prove he was always in love with you?
The past wasn't past. It was sitting right here, on the sofa with me, breathing down my neck. I remembered Isabella's whisper in the restroom earlier, as I was washing my hands. He never loved you, Clementine. You were just a consolation prize.
Braden's finger, pale and trembling slightly, traced the outline of Isabella's face in the photo. He lingered on a candid shot of her laughing, his gaze lost in the past. It was all I could take.
The joy, the sorrow, the hope, the despair – it all felt utterly meaningless. I stood up. I just needed to leave.
As I turned to walk away, a sudden, jarring force slammed into my lower back. A sharp pain shot through me, and I stumbled, falling hard onto the plush carpet. My head hit the floor with a sickening thud.
Braden was the first to react. He rushed over, his face momentarily stripped of its practiced composure. He knelt, hovering over me, unsure whether to touch me.
"Leo! What did you do?" Isabella shrieked, her voice shrill. "Apologize to Aunt Clementine right now!"
Leo burst into tears, shaking his head. "No! I hate her! She'll take Braden away! Braden is MY daddy!" he screamed, his small face contorted with anger.
Isabella' s eyes filled with tears, her voice a wounded whisper. "Oh, Leo, darling... Braden will have his own children someday. He won't forget you."
"No! I want Braden to be my daddy!" Leo wailed, clinging to Isabella' s leg.
Braden, his concern for me already fading, looked at my dress, checking for any visible stains. He let out a relieved sigh when he saw none. "Clementine, please," he said, his voice laced with a weary impatience. "Don't make a scene. He's just a child."
A child? I thought, my head throbbing. When did I become the villain in this twisted play?
I shoved his hand away, pushing myself up. "He did that on purpose, Braden. He pushed me."
Braden' s eyes hardened. "Clementine, that's enough," he said, his voice flat, a hint of steel beneath the surface. "Don't be dramatic."
I laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. I grabbed Leo's shoulder, my fingers digging into his small arm. "Apologize," I demanded, my voice low and dangerous.
Isabella shrieked, pushing me away from her son. "Don't you dare touch my child! He's just a baby!"
In the flurry of the push, Isabella lost her footing. She tumbled backward, her arm hitting the sharp corner of a side table. A gasp escaped her lips, and a thin line of blood immediately welled up on her forearm.
The room fell silent. Everyone stared, frozen in shock.
"Isabella!" Braden cried, his eyes wide with horror. He immediately knelt beside her, frantically searching for a first aid kit. His face, when he looked at me, was contorted with a raw, unadulterated fury I had never seen before.
"Clementine, what is wrong with you?" he spat, his voice trembling with rage. "You're acting like a common shrew! How can you possibly think you'd be a good mother when you behave like this?"
His words, sharp and venomous, pierced through me. My chest felt like an anvil, every breath a struggle. I bit back the tears, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.
I looked directly at the security camera mounted in the corner of the room. "I didn't touch her, Braden. I pushed her off after she pushed me. Check the cameras."
Then, I looked him dead in the eye, my voice shaking slightly, but clear. "And you know what the funniest part is, Braden? I didn't go through with the embryo transfer. I canceled it. So, you don't have to worry about your perfect genes being tainted by a 'shrew' like me."
His face drained of all color. He stared at me, his mouth agape.
"I want a divorce, Braden," I said, the words echoing in the sudden, horrified silence of the room. "And this time, I'm not kidding."