Chapter 7: Rain and Defiance

That night, Derek came home, smelling like whiskey.

He let the door slam behind him, his footsteps heavy on the stairs. The scent of whiskey wafted through the house, mixing with the faint smell of lavender from Maddie’s bath. I braced myself as he came into the bedroom.

When he leaned in to kiss me, I instinctively turned away and caught sight of his split lip.

His lips hovered by my cheek. I pulled back, startled by the red slash at the corner of his mouth.

"What happened to your lip?"

The words came out sharper than I intended. He wiped at the cut, annoyed.

"Bit it while eating dinner."

His answer was clipped, evasive. I didn’t buy it for a second.

"You bit your upper lip eating?"

I stared at him, eyebrow raised. He glared back, daring me to push further.

I leaned against the headboard, voice quiet.

My voice was steady, but my heart raced. I’d never been good at hiding my feelings.

His face darkened, annoyed.

He crossed his arms, jaw clenched. The air between us crackled with unspoken accusations.

"Aubrey, are you trying to pick a fight? I’m wiped out—met a ton of people, talked all day. I can’t deal with this."

He dropped onto the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples. The lines on his forehead deepened. For a moment, he looked every bit as exhausted as I felt.

"..."

I said nothing, letting the silence stretch between us.

"Go sleep in the guest room."

The words were blunt, meant to end the conversation. I bit my lip, nodding once.

I looked down and said flatly, not arguing.

"Okay."

My voice was flat, emotionless. For once, I didn’t try to smooth things over. I just picked up my pillow and stood.

He frowned. "What did you say?"

His head snapped up, surprised by my easy agreement. I met his gaze, refusing to flinch.

For two years, my mother-in-law had worried the baby’s crying would disturb him and suggested we sleep separately. Even though I was usually passive, I’d never given in, which just gave her more to complain about.

She’d made it a point to mention how "proper couples" put the man’s rest first. I’d always resisted, clinging to the belief that sharing a bed meant sharing a life. Tonight, I was too tired to fight.

Now, I stared at the blanket’s pattern and said calmly:

"Maddie’s been fussy at night. You’ve got work, you need rest. You should sleep in the guest room."

The words felt final, like the click of a door shutting. I pulled the comforter up to my chin, leaving him sitting there, stunned.

"Whatever you want."

He stood, grabbing his phone and a spare blanket. His laughter was bitter, humorless.

He looked at me for a moment and laughed, bitter.

It was the kind of laugh that hurt more than any argument. He shook his head, shoulders slumped.

At the door, he paused.

For a second, I thought he might turn around, apologize, say something to make it right.

"Honestly, with the way you look now, it’s hard for me too. Thanks for being considerate."

The words stung, sharp as broken glass. I felt the air go out of the room.

The door shut.

The latch clicked. I sat in the dark, listening to his footsteps fade away.

The room was silent.

Only the hum of the air conditioner and Maddie’s slow breathing broke the stillness. My heart thudded in my chest.

I stared out the window, then picked up my phone.

The city lights twinkled outside. I scrolled through my phone, searching for something to distract me. The screen was a portal to another life—a life that didn’t ache.

The screen was still on the jewelry store’s website—the diamond necklace, with a little picture of matching earrings in the corner.

I’d been staring at it for days, wondering if a piece of jewelry could change how I felt. The model on the website looked radiant, her smile effortless.

It read: Buy one, get one free.

Mocking me with its easy promises. I almost laughed. Two women, two gifts—one love, split in half.

I closed the page and opened Instagram Live—Rachel was streaming.

I tapped the notification, drawn in by curiosity and masochism. Her face filled the screen, cheeks flushed with wine, laughter bubbling up from deep inside.

On camera, her cheeks were flushed, lips curled in a tipsy smile.

She looked happy—really happy. The comments scrolled by too fast to read, hearts floating up like confetti.

Comments flew by: [Rachel, you look so happy! Are you in love?]

A chorus of strangers cheered her on, celebrating her every move. For a second, I envied her—envied the ease with which she claimed joy.

Rachel laughed: "Not yet, but I’m in a great mood. Something I’ve wanted for years finally happened, so I had a few drinks."

She leaned closer to the camera, conspiratorial. Her laughter was contagious, echoing through my silent room.

[Tell us!]

[Drunk words are honest words!]

Her followers egged her on, hungry for gossip. The glow of her phone reflected in her eyes.

Rachel giggled.

She tossed her hair, her laughter bright and unguarded. I felt like an intruder, watching from the shadows.

"I’ll tell you! I’m bold, you all know that. The wildest thing I ever did was, the night before someone important’s big event, I threw myself at him."

Her words hit like a gut punch. I remembered the night—the same one she’d begged me to step aside. I gripped my phone tighter, my palms damp.

[OMG!!!]

[Did it work? Did you get together?]

The excitement in the comments was palpable. Everyone wanted a love story, even a messy one.

Rachel ran her fingers through her hair, grinning.

She looked right into the camera, daring anyone to challenge her. For a second, I almost admired her nerve.

"He turned me down and chose someone else. But today, he showed me he regrets it—regrets it big time!"

Her smile was triumphant, hungry. She pressed her fingers to her lips, as if savoring a secret.

She traced her lips with a finger.

A slow, deliberate gesture. I wondered if she knew I was watching.

[There’s still time, as long as neither is married!]

[But he’s taken, that’s not right.]

Her followers debated, some cheering her on, others calling her out. Rachel just shrugged, unbothered.

Rachel shrugged.

She rolled her shoulders, lips quirking. She looked at the camera with a challenge in her eyes.

"Snatching someone up? That’s nothing. I want them to want me so bad they’d crawl for it. That’s when you know you’ve really won."

Her voice was soft but electric. I stared at my reflection in the black screen, wondering when I’d stopped fighting for anything at all.

...

I stood in front of the mirror, staring at the tired, bloated woman reflected back at me.

The overhead light was harsh, washing out what little color remained in my cheeks. My hair hung limp, eyes ringed with fatigue. I barely recognized the woman staring back.

I didn’t move.

My feet stayed rooted to the spot, the weight of everything pressing down. The thunder outside rolled closer, rattling the windowpanes.

Thunder rumbled outside. After days of dry weather, the first autumn rain was finally coming.

I heard the soft patter of rain against the glass, the earthy smell seeping through the screen. A small comfort in the middle of a storm.

The nanny opened the door.

Carol appeared in the doorway, holding another bowl of soup. Her voice carried a hint of impatience.

"Aubrey, come drink your soup."

I didn’t move.

I met her eyes in the mirror, silent. The room felt colder, the distance between us suddenly vast.

"What’s with you? I don’t have all night—don’t make me miss my show!"

She huffed, tapping her foot. The theme song from her favorite sitcom drifted up from the kitchen TV.

Her voice was sharp, annoyed.

She set the bowl down harder than necessary, arms crossed.

I turned, tilting my head to look at her.

I gave her a level stare, my voice calm but unyielding.

"I’m not drinking it."

The words surprised even me. For once, I didn’t back down.

She frowned, voice rising.

She drew herself up, mouth set in a hard line. I could see her rehearsing the speech she’d give Mrs. Thompson.

"Then don’t blame me for telling Mrs. Thompson exactly what happened!"

She thrust her chin forward, ready for a fight. I smiled, a quiet confidence settling over me.

I smiled, my voice calm. I met her stare head-on, not backing down for once.

"Go ahead, Carol. Go tell her right now."

She stared, stunned.

The surprise on her face was almost funny. For once, she wasn’t sure how to respond.

I kept my tone gentle.

"And by the way, if you ever come in without knocking again, I’ll let Mrs. Thompson know about those gold earrings you took. Oh, and your son’s prepping for his firefighter exam, right?"

Her eyes widened. She stood there a second, then hurried out.

The door closed, gently, behind her.

For the first time in a long time, I felt a flicker of control—something almost like hope. I stood by the window, letting the rain wash away the day, determined to reclaim a little piece of myself, no matter how small.