At my husband’s office party, our 4-year-old daughter suddenly pointed at a woman and said, « Mom, that’s the lady with the butterflies! »
I laughed… until she whispered to me what kind of butterflies they were.
The ballroom sparkled with golden lights and resounded with conversation. Adriana smoothed her emerald green dress, trying to smile despite the banalities of the conversation. Her husband, Charles, was over the moon: everyone congratulated him on his promotion to the position of regional director.
Their daughter, Nora, sat quietly on Adriana’s lap, munching on a cookie. She had begged to come, and Charles had thought it would be « cute » to bring the whole family.
Everything was going well until Nora pointed to the other end of the room. « Mom, » she said cheerfully, « it’s the lady with the butterflies! »
Adriana blinked. « What butterflies, honey? »
Nora leaned closer, her voice soft and deep. « The ones that dad said lived in his bed. »
The surrounding noise faded away. Adriana felt the air cooling.
She slowly turned to the place Nora was pointing at her. Near the bar stood Claire Duvall: tall, auburn-haired, a woman who seemed naturally confident. Adriana had met her once, briefly, at a company picnic. Charles’ « artistic director ». The one he described as brilliant every two weeks.
Adriana saw it then: the look that Claire was giving Charles from the other side of the room. The way Charles carefully avoided turning around, too carefully.
Adriana gently put Nora down. « Mom just needs a minute, okay? » She slipped into the bathroom before her hands began to tremble.
In the bathroom, she tried to breathe. Butterflies. Charles told Nora bedtime stories, stories of butterflies dancing in the garden. Was he telling them to someone else too, but… of a different kind?
When she came out, Charles was at the bar, laughing with Claire, his hand on his shoulder. Adriana stood still for a moment, then smiled politely as if nothing had happened.
« Come on, my dear, » she said softly to Nora. « Let’s go home. »
That evening, when Charles returned from the after-party, half-drunk and beaming with success, Adriana was waiting for him in the dark living room. No tears. No shouting. Just a quiet and quiet certainty.
And what she says next… was going to change everything.
The chandeliers twinkled above the ballroom like frozen stars. Soft jazz filled the air, and the clinking of champagne glasses mingled with polite laughter. Adriana Voss adjusted the silver strap of her dress, trying to keep calm among her husband’s colleagues. It was the company’s annual gala at the Grand Regent in Boston, and her husband, Charles, was the star of the evening, freshly promoted to regional vice president.
Their daughter, Nora, sat on Adriana’s lap, munching on a chocolate cookie. The little girl had begged to come, and Charles had gladly accepted. A perfect family made a good impression.
Adriana was chatting with another customer’s wife when Nora pointed to the bar. « Mamma, » she said cheerfully, « it’s the lady with butterflies in her stomach. »
Adriana smiled. « What butterflies, my dear? »
Nora leaned over and whispered as if to share a secret, « The butterflies that Daddy said live in his bed. »
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