The ride home from the hospital blurred into one long stretch of silence. Corinne's car smelled faintly of coffee and her perfume, but all I could smell was antiseptic, all I could hear was the doctor's voice.
"Stage II. We'll need more scans, but the tests are clear. Lymph nodes involved."
Stage II. The phrase rolled through me like a drumbeat. It couldn't be real. Not for me. It belonged to some other woman, a stranger with hollow eyes and thin wrists. Not Camilla Locke. Not the carefully painted hostess with a perfect smile and pearls gleaming at her throat. Not the woman who still remembered how to fold napkins into swans for dinner parties and pretended it mattered in the grand scheme of things.
My fingers curled in my lap until my nails dug half moons into my palms. The hospital bracelet clung to my wrist like a shackle, plastic and cheap, as if mocking all the years I had spent building a picture perfect life.
I tore it off.
Corinne glanced at me from the driver's seat, but I couldn't meet her eyes. I didn't want to see pity I was sure would show in her eyes.
She'd been crying since we left the hospital. Meanwhile, I couldn't feel anything at all.
Outside, the city passed in streaks of light and shadow. My mind kept circling the same fragments- cancer, cancer, cancer- like a child tugging at a loose thread.
When we finally pulled into the Locke driveway, the house loomed large and cold, its windows gleaming like watchful eyes. This was supposed to be my sanctuary. Tonight it looked like a stage, and I was stepping into someone else's play.
"Cam?" Corinne's voice was a little too gentle.
I forced a breath. "I'm fine."
She didn't argue. She never argued when I used that tone. But her jaw was tight as she helped me out of the car and up the steps.
Inside, the house was immaculate as always, our housekeeper had clearly been through, but it felt foreign. Every polished surface, every perfect detail seemed to mock me. How many years had I spent arranging flowers, adjusting curtains, setting a stage for a marriage that was slowly unraveling?
I sank onto the living room sofa. My body felt like it weighed double what it had that morning. The doctor's words replayed: "It's treatable. We'll discuss options. Chemotherapy, possibly surgery."
Options. Like I was selecting dessert from a menu. Soufflé or crème brûlée. Chemo or knife.
Corinne sat beside me. "Do you want tea? Water?"
"No." My voice cracked on the word.
Silence stretched. I felt her watching me, felt the questions she wanted to ask, the comfort she wanted to give. I couldn't handle either. Before she could push further, the sound of the front door unlocking split the quiet. Keys jingled against the counter.
Michael.
I straightened instinctively, my pulse racing. For a ridiculous second, I thought maybe he'd rush over, gather me into his arms, ask how I was. The way he once did when I scraped my knee in college and he carried me three blocks to the infirmary like it was life or death.
Instead, he walked into the living room with his tailored suit still somehow without a single wrinkle. He loosened his tie and then his eyes landed on me, not the least bit worried. Just… cold.
"You're home," he said flatly, as if he'd found me sneaking in past curfew.
"Yes."
His gaze dashed to Corinne, then back to me. "Do you realize what kind of spectacle you caused?"
I blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
"At the gala," he snapped. "Collapsing in front of everyone. The press will eat this alive. My board is already calling. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for me?"
Humiliating. For him.
I shook my head in disbelief. "I didn't choose to faint, Michael."
"You didn't try not to, either." He shot back. "You've always had a flare for the dramatic. But this was a new low... even for you."
The sting of it was sharp, sharper than the IV needle that pierced my skin earlier that day. For years he'd called me radiant, his steady star. Now, I was suddenly a liability.
Corinne stood abruptly. "You have got to be kidding me."
Michael's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
"She fainted, Michael. Because something's wrong. Not because she wanted attention. But sure, go ahead, make it about your reputation. God forbid anyone think less of your empire for five minutes."
I saw where this was headed and I felt a wave of panic crawl up my throat.
"Corinne... " I said quickly, shaking my head.
She turned on me, furious. "No, Cam. He deserves to-"
"Not now." I snapped cutting her off before she revealed what I wasn't sure I wanted revealed just yet. The hospital bracelet bit into my skin as I folded my arms tight across my chest.
Corinne's anger still boiled at the surface but instead of saying any more, she sank back down, but fixed her her glare at Michael.
Michael scoffed. "I don't need your theatrics, Corinne. You've always coddled her. That's half the problem."
The audacity!
"You weren't there," I said.
His looked at me. "What?"
"At the hospital." My nails pressed into my palms. "While I was hooked up to wires, while the doctor spelled out my diagnosis, where were you? Because it definitely wasn't by my side."
"I have a company to run. You can't expect me to drop everything for your dramatics."
"Dramatics?" My laugh came out hollow. "Are you freaking kidding me? Your wife fainted in front of a hundred guests and you call that dramatics?!"
Michael's face didn't soften. If anything, it sharpened even more. "Do you think your little crisis gives you the right to jeopardize everything I've built? The ambulance can get you to a hospital just as well as I can. But no one can run my company for me."
Heat flared in my chest, but it wasn't shame this time. It was fury. "Everything you've built? I've stood beside you for five years, Micheal. Five! And those are just the years we've been married. Every dinner party, every fundraiser, every carefully curated picture of our 'perfect marriage- that was me. My face. My body. My fucking labor!" I was shouting now but I didn't care. "So don't you dare act like I haven't been carrying this house on my back while you chased boardroom approval."
He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing and said. "Careful, Camilla."
Not one to back down, I took a step of my own. "Or what?"
The silence after was heavy. Corinne shifted uncomfortably and cleared her throat. "I'll… I'll excuse myself," she muttered, rising.
But she barely reached the hallway when a knock sounded.
We all turned toward the sound.
Michael's brow furrowed. "Who the hell is at our door this late?"
The knock came again, lighter, followed by a woman's voice. Sweet and self assured.
"Michael? It's me."
Corinne's head snapped toward me. Her eyebrows shot up in question.
Who the hell is me?
Michael froze. For one very brief moment, panic flashed across his face. Then it vanished, replaced by something steadier. He straightened his shoulders and strode to the door.
I was absolutely confused. I glanced to the clock hanging above the fireplace. 10:47PM.
Why would Michael open the door for someone this late?
The door opened and she stepped inside like she owned the place. Dark waves of hair spilling over her shoulders, a dress that looked like it was made for seduction, lips painted crimson. She smelled of expensive perfume and entitlement.
"Darling," she purred. And before my brain could process it, she slid her arm around Michael's neck and kissed him.
Right there. In my living room.
Right in front of me.
The papers in my lap slipped from my fingers falling to a tangled heap on the ground near my feet.
Time stopped.
Corinne let out a strangled sound. "What the hell..."
But I didn't hear her... not really anyway. I was too busy trying to pinch myself awake.
This had to be some sort of cruel nightmare, obviously.
But Michael didn't pull away. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her body to his, and kissed her back.
And in that moment, something inside me cracked so violently I swore the sound echoed in the room.