The music turned into a crackle.
Adriana froze, her smile fading. Her heart was pounding as she followed Nora with her finger. On the other side of the room stood a woman with silky auburn hair, dressed in a purple dress that shimmered in the spotlight. She was laughing with someone, her head thrown back, perfectly relaxed. Adriana recognized her instantly. Claire Duvall. Charles’ marketing manager.
He was full of praise for Claire: her creativity, her « innovative ideas », her « boundless energy ». Adriana had met her once, at a barbecue last summer, and had sensed something indefinable, a tension too subtle to demonstrate. But now, seeing the furtive glances exchanged between her husband and Claire, she felt a shiver run through her.
She whispered an apology and rushed to the bathroom, her heels echoing across the marble. In the cabin, she clutched the counter, staring at her reflection. Butterflies. This word was running through his head. Had Charles told stories about butterflies to their daughter before going to sleep? Or was it something much more intimate?
Back in the ballroom, Claire was leaning over to Charles and whispering something to him that made him laugh. Adriana, smiling at the photographers, pretended not to see anything. She took Nora’s coat and whispered, « It’s time to go home, my dear. »
That night, after Nora had fallen asleep, Adriana sat in the dark living room, waiting. The clock was slowly approaching one o’clock in the morning when Charles staggered in, imbued with a strong smell of whiskey and partying. He stopped short when he saw her sitting there, her arms crossed, her eyes fixed.
« Are you still awake? » he asked, worried.
« Yes, » she said softly. « We need to talk. »
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. « Adri, not tonight. I’m exhausted. »
She stood up. « Nora said something at the gala. She pointed at Claire and told me that it was the lady with the butterflies. Then she added that you told her that butterflies lived in Claire’s bed. »
Charles turned pale. « It’s ridiculous. She must have misunderstood. »
« Did she do it? » asked Adriana in a calm, composed voice. « Or did she repeat what she heard? »
He ran a hand through her hair. « I made a silly joke once. Claire bought sheets with butterflies, and I talked about it on the phone. Nora must have heard. »
Adriana’s gaze does not weaken. « So you were in his room. »
He hesitated. Just long enough.
She nodded slowly. « That’s what I thought. »
« It was a mistake, » he says in a trembling voice. « It’s been over for months. I swear it didn’t mean anything. »
She turned away, her chest aching but her tone still calm. « You humiliated me tonight. You dragged our daughter into your lies. »
He knelt in front of her, begging her, « I can fix this. I will cut off all contact with her. Please don’t mess up everything we’ve built. »
Adriana looked down at him and felt something break. « I didn’t throw it away. »
When he went to bed, she unlocked his phone. The messages were there: photos, nocturnal confessions, endless discussions about butterflies in the stomach. At dawn, his suitcase was packed.
When she woke up, sunlight filtered through the curtains. His clothes were folded on the sofa. Adriana stood by the door, calm but unyielding.
« You’ll stay in a hotel, » she said. « You can have dinner with Nora tomorrow. Then we’ll discuss the details. »
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