CHAPTER 9: The Wife Without Applause

Catherine had always known how to leave a room beautifully.
Tonight there was no beautiful way out.
Her donors did not rush to comfort her. Her friends did not stand. Even her mother remained seated, eyes fixed on the linen as if loyalty had suddenly become expensive.
Grant handed the envelope to his attorney, who had already been called from the lobby conference suite. Then he removed his jacket and wrapped it around Henry's shoulders.
The boy did not let go of Evelyn.
Grant did not ask him to.
Catherine stared at the three of them: husband, child, housekeeper. The family she had arranged like furniture no longer faced the direction she wanted.
Even the flowers seemed turned away from her. White roses stood in tall glass towers around the ballroom, as elegant and cold as the life she had curated. None of them could hide what the boy had said.
"She turned him against me," Catherine said.
Evelyn's voice was calm, but her eyes were tired.
"No. I kept him from thinking love always hurt."
That sentence did what accusation could not.
It made the guests look at Catherine as if they had finally understood the shape of the silence inside the Whitmore house.
Grant turned to his wife.
"You will leave through the south exit. My attorney will speak to yours in the morning."
Catherine blinked.
"Grant."
"Not tonight," he said. "Not in front of him again."