Natasha's Stance
Saturday morning, I woke up to seventeen missed calls from Michelle and nine from David.
My heart jumped into my throat. Did they know?
I called Michelle back, keeping my voice groggy and confused. "Hello?"
"Tasha! Thank God! We've been trying to reach you for hours!" She sounded genuinely panicked.
"What? What's wrong? What time is it?"
"It's eleven! You never sleep this late! We were worried you'd had some kind of episode!"
I made my voice small and frightened. "I'm sorry. I took a sleeping pill last night. I've been having nightmares."
"Okay, okay. It's fine. We were just worried." She exhaled. "David wants to take you to brunch to clear your head. He feels bad about canceling dinner."
My stomach turned. They were checking on me, making sure I was still under control.
"That sounds nice. Give me an hour to get ready?"
"Perfect. We'll pick you up at noon."
The moment I hung up, I texted the group: "They're suspicious, picking me up at noon. I need to stay calm."
Adrian responded immediately: "You can do this. Just a few more hours."
I got dressed, choosing a soft blue dress that made me look fragile and confused. I left my hair down, didn't wear makeup. I needed to look like someone whose mind was slipping away.
David and Michelle arrived together, which was bold. They weren't even trying to hide it anymore.
"You look tired, sweetheart." He kissed my forehead, and I forced myself not to recoil. "Are you feeling okay?"
"Just a little foggy. The sleeping pills make me groggy."
"Maybe you shouldn't take those anymore," Michelle said, sliding into the front seat like she belonged there. Like this was her car, her husband, her life.
We went to a café in SoHo, one of those trendy places with overpriced salads and exposed brick. The kind of place David used to take me when we were first dating.
Now he was recreating those moments with her while I watched.
"So, Tasha," Michelle said, stabbing her kale salad. "David and I have been talking, and we think it might be good for you to spend some time at a treatment facility. Just for a few weeks, to get your medications balanced."
I stared at her. "A treatment facility?"
"It's not as scary as it sounds," David added quickly. "It's more like a spa, peaceful and quiet. You could rest and get the care you need."
"You want to send me away?"
"Not forever," she said, reaching across the table for my hand. "Just until you're stable. We're worried about you."
This was it. They were trying to institutionalize me before I could fight back.
I pulled my hand away, letting it tremble. "I don't want to go to a facility. I want to stay home. Please don't send me away."
His face softened with false sympathy. "We're not sending you away, love. We're trying to help you."
"When would I go?" My voice was barely a whisper.
"We were thinking Monday," Michelle said. "We've already contacted a wonderful place in Connecticut. They are very discrete."
Monday. Same day David had told his father.
"Can I think about it?" I asked. "It's a big decision."
They exchanged a look.
"Of course," he said. "But Natasha, this isn't really optional. Your doctor thinks it's necessary."
"Dr. Harrison said that?"
"He's very concerned about your rapid decline."
I nodded slowly, letting tears slide down my cheeks. "Okay. If you think it's best."
The relief on their faces was almost funny.
We finished brunch in relative silence. I played with my food, making myself look small and defeated and broken.
David's phone rang. "I need to take this. Work emergency." He stepped outside.
The moment he was gone, Michelle leaned forward. "Tasha, I need to tell you something."
My heart started pounding. "What?"
"David and I..." She paused dramatically. "We're in love. We have been for months. And I know this is terrible timing with everything you're going through, but I'm pregnant with his baby. He’s the boyfriend I told you about."
I stared at her, letting my face show shock and pain and devastation.
"After you're settled in the facility, we're going to make it official. I wanted you to hear it from me first." She reached for my hand again. "I hope someday you can be happy for us. We never meant to hurt you."
The audacity of this woman.
"How long?" My voice cracked.
"Six months. I'm so sorry, Tasha. These things just happen."
"Does he love you?"
"Very much." She smiled, and it was genuine. She was happy. She thought she'd won.
"And my music? The compositions?"
Her smile faltered. "What about them?"
"The ones registered under your name. Did you write those?"
Her face went pale. "I... I helped with some of them. They are collaborative works."
"Did you write them, Michelle?"
"Tasha, you're confused. The medication makes you forget things."
"Did you write them?" I repeated, my voice stronger now.
David came back in, sensing tension. "Is everything okay?"
I looked between them, my husband and my assistant, the two people who'd systematically destroyed my life while pretending to love me.
And I smiled.
"Everything's perfect. Michelle just told me about the baby. Congratulations."
They both relaxed.
"You're not upset?" He asked carefully.
"I'm dying, David. My brain is turning to mush. What do I have to be upset about?" I laughed, and it sounded broken even to my own ears. "You deserve happiness. Both of you."
Michelle actually had tears in her eyes. "Thank you, Tasha. That means everything."
I excused myself to the bathroom, locked the door, and pulled out my phone.
Five hours until showtime.
Five hours until I destroyed them both.
I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was pale, my eyes red from fake crying. I looked exactly like what they thought I was: a broken woman with nothing left to lose.
They had no idea how right they were about the nothing left to lose part.
And how completely wrong they were about everything else.
I fixed my makeup, straightened my shoulders, and went back to the table with a smile.
"Ready to go home?" He asked.
"Actually, I think I'll walk for a bit. I need to clear my head."
"Are you sure that's safe?" Michelle asked. "You might get lost."
"I'll be fine. I need some air."
I left them at the café, their concerned faces watching me go.
The moment I turned the corner, I dropped the act.
I had five hours to prepare for the performance of my lifetime.
And this time, the whole world would be watching.
