Though I stood still, my heart was pounding so loudly it drowned out the chatter around me. Hazel’s innocent voice still echoed in my ears — words spoken with the unfiltered honesty only a child possesses. Around me, glasses clinked nervously, whispers fluttered like restless moths, and I could feel every curious gaze burning into my back.
Charlotte stood across the room, her face flushed crimson. She couldn’t look at me — couldn’t look at anyone. The delicate crystal flute in her hand trembled, the champagne within it rippling like her nerves. My husband, Thomas, tried to feign composure, but the truth betrayed him in subtle ways — his eyes darting to the floor, a sheen of sweat forming along his temples, his jaw tightening every time someone glanced our way.
I forced myself to breathe, to move, to do something that didn’t reveal the turmoil clawing at my insides. Kneeling beside Hazel, I smiled — a smile that felt like porcelain about to crack. “Hazel, sweetheart,” I said softly, “can you show me where your toys are? I think Mr. Teddy Bear might be missing you.”
Her eyes brightened, blissfully unaware of the storm she had just unleashed. She nodded and skipped off toward the playroom, leaving behind a silence that pressed against the room like a held breath.
When I stood again, I could feel every eye on me. “I’m sure there’s a simple explanation,” I said evenly, though my voice carried a fragile edge. “Let’s all enjoy the party.”
Conversations resumed, but the laughter was gone. The warmth had bled out of the evening. As I caught Thomas’s pleading gaze — a silent please, not here — I nodded faintly. There would be time for questions later. For now, I would preserve the illusion a little longer.
Charlotte murmured something about a headache and slipped out, her departure doing nothing to quiet the tension. I moved through the rest of the night in a haze, smiling, thanking guests, and pretending not to notice the way their eyes flickered between me and Thomas. Every word Hazel had spoken replayed in my mind, looping endlessly, reshaping the story I thought I knew.
When the final door closed behind the last guest, the silence was deafening — and the real conversation could no longer be delayed.