"Are you completely out of your mind, Violet?"
Caleb's voice blasted through the phone speaker, loud enough to echo in the empty dining room.
"Hello to you too, Caleb," I said, keeping my tone flat. "Happy anniversary."
"Don't play games with me. I saw the notification."
I stared at the cooling roast on the table. Five years of marriage. His thirtieth birthday. I had flown back early from my ballet tour just to cook this meal.
"I just liked a photo."
"You embarrassed Jade! She's a new assistant at the tennis club, and you're acting like a jealous high schooler."
In the background, glasses clinked. Music thumped. He was at a VIP lounge, celebrating without me.
Jade Morrison had posted a selfie twenty minutes ago. Caleb's cheek pressed flush against hers, his arm wrapped tight around her waist. I hadn't commented. I hadn't called him screaming. I simply tapped the little heart icon.
"She deleted it, Caleb. Not me."
"Because you terrified her! You have zero emotional intelligence!" he shouted. "You made a huge deal out of nothing and ruined my birthday."
"I didn't say a single word to her."
"You didn't have to! Everyone saw your little passive-aggressive like. Grow up, Violet."
The line went dead.
An hour later, the front door swung open.
Caleb walked in, holding a plastic takeout container. He wore his expensive tailored suit, the collar unbuttoned.
"Look, I brought you something," he announced, dropping the bag on the kitchen island. "Hot cream of vegetable soup."
"I made dinner." I pointed to the untouched plates. "Steak. Your favorite."
"I was out celebrating with the team. You know how it is." He pulled the container out. "Eat it while it's hot. It's from that bistro downtown."
"I don't want soup, Caleb." I stepped closer. "Why was her face pressed against yours?"
"She's a fan. She was excited."
"She's your assistant. And you had your arm around her waist."
"Are we really doing this?" He grabbed the plastic container, shoving it toward my chest. "Take the damn food, Violet! I went out of my way to bring it to you."
"I didn't ask for it!" I pushed his hand away.
His phone chimed on the marble counter. The screen lit up instantly.
*Jade: Missing you already. Did she yell at you?*
"Who is she calling 'she'?" I asked.
My eyes darted to the screen. Caleb panicked. He lunged for the phone, violently jerking his other hand forward.
The flimsy plastic lid popped off.
Boiling, thick liquid splashed directly onto my right forearm.
"Ah!" I staggered backward, clutching my skin.
The searing heat bit into my flesh, melting through my thin silk sleeve. As a professional ballerina, my arms dictated my balance. They were my livelihood.
Caleb froze, staring at the red, swelling blisters forming on my skin. "I... you startled me! Why were you snooping?"
"Take me to the hospital," I gasped, tears pooling in my eyes. "Now."
"It's just a little spill."
"My skin is peeling off, Caleb! Drive me to the ER!"
"Fine! Grab your purse. Always making a scene."
We sped down the empty streets of Westbrook. The summer heat was oppressive, thick and suffocating even at midnight.
Caleb's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. His phone rang again. He answered through the car's Bluetooth.
"Caleb?" Jade's voice trembled through the speakers. "I can't breathe. My chest hurts so much."
"Jade? Calm down. Are you having a panic attack?"
Caleb slammed on the brakes, pulling the luxury sedan onto the shoulder of the road.
"I need you," she sobbed. "I'm still at the club entrance. Everyone left. I'm all alone."
"I'm ten minutes away. Hold on." He shifted into park.
I gripped my blistering arm, rocking forward. "Caleb, I need a doctor. The pain is unbearable."
"Jade is having a medical emergency!" He unbuckled his seatbelt.
"I have second-degree burns! Look at my arm!"
"It's just a little red. Stop exaggerating."
"I'm a dancer, Caleb! I need my arms for balance. This could ruin my season."
"And Jade could be having a heart attack. I'll run over, calm her down, and come right back."
"You're leaving me here? On the side of the road?"
"Stop being so dramatic, Violet."
He stepped out into the muggy August air and slammed the door.
The locks clicked. He took the keys.
The engine died. The air conditioning stopped.
I pounded on the window with my good hand. "Caleb! Open the door!"
He didn't look back, sprinting down the dark street toward the club district.
The temperature inside the sealed car skyrocketed. My lungs burned with every breath. Sweat stung the raw flesh of my arm, amplifying the agony.
I pulled the handle. Locked.
I fumbled for the manual release, but my burned arm refused to cooperate.
The world spun. The edges of my vision turned black. I slumped against the leather seat, the stifling heat pressing down on my chest until everything went dark.
I woke up choking on stale air.
The car was still locked. I threw my entire body weight against the door, kicking the manual release lever with my heel.
The door popped open. I tumbled out onto the asphalt, gasping for oxygen.
He never came back.
I walked two miles to the emergency room. The triage nurse wrapped my burns in thick gauze, shooting pitying glances at my tear-streaked face while the doctor prescribed painkillers.
It was 3:00 AM when I finally pushed open our front door.
The foyer lights blazed. Caleb sat on the living room sofa, flipping through a sports magazine.
He didn't ask where I had been. He didn't look at the bandages wrapping my arm from wrist to elbow.
"You didn't put the roast in the fridge," he said, turning a page. "It's ruined. And I'm starving."
"You locked me in the car."
"You were safe. I secured the vehicle so no one would bother you."
"It was ninety degrees outside. I passed out from the heat."
"You always exaggerate, Violet. Did you bring back any food from the hospital cafeteria?"
I stood in the entryway. Five years of bending over backward. Five years of shrinking myself to fit his massive ego.
"You left me to die in a metal box so you could hold your assistant's hand."
"She was having a crisis!"
"So was I."
"Did you hear me, Violet? I asked if there's anything else to eat."
I stared at the man I had loved. The golden boy of tennis. My husband.
The frantic beating of my heart slowed. The desperation, the anger, the tears—they all vanished. Something inside my chest snapped, leaving only cold, hollow silence.
"No, Caleb," I said softly.
"No what?" He finally glanced up, annoyance flashing in his eyes.
"There's nothing left."
Tomorrow, I would file the divorce papers. But tonight, I needed to make sure he lost everything he valued most.
