Betrayed on April Fool’s Day, I abandoned my husband Chapter 10

Betrayed on April Fool’s Day, I abandoned my husband Chapter 10

“You hung the morning tide piece crooked,” Daniel said, adjusting a wooden frame on the north wall.

“Leave it,” I told him, wiping a smudge of charcoal dust from the display counter. “The horizon line is supposed to tilt.”

“It gives people vertigo.”

“It gives them perspective.”

Daniel stepped back and evaluated the wall. “Fine. But if someone throws up, you’re mopping the floor.”

I laughed, tossing the rag under the counter.

The spring air drifted through the open double doors, carrying the sharp scent of blooming jasmine and sea salt. The gallery buzzed with noise. Nearly half the town had shown up for the grand opening.

Mrs. Gable marched up to the counter, clutching a small canvas of a winter storm.

“I want this one,” she announced, slapping a credit card on the glass. “It matches my guest bathroom.”

“You don’t have to buy anything just to support me,” I told her.

“Nonsense. Your ex-husband was a fool, and I want everyone to know I’m funding your revenge.”

“It’s not revenge. It’s just a painting.”

“Call it whatever you want,” Mrs. Gable insisted, tapping the card. “Run the charge, Clara.”

I swiped the card and wrapped the canvas in brown paper.

As she walked away, I scanned the crowded room.

My father stood near the front entrance, holding a paper plate stacked high with cheese cubes. He caught my eye and flashed a quick, solid thumbs-up. My mother stood with him and smiled.

I nodded back. He had spent the last few months rebuilding his firm from the ground up. He looked tired, but the permanent crease of worry between his eyebrows was gone.

Then I looked at the far corner.

My sister stood completely alone. She clutched her leather purse tightly against her chest. Her eyes were rimmed in red, puffy and raw.

She hadn’t spoken to my father since December. Since the day I laid Victor❖❖❖s printed email on the kitchen table and exposed her signature on the supply line contracts. She traded her own father❖❖❖s company for a payout from Richard Mercer.

“She hasn’t moved from that spot in an hour,” Daniel noted, following my gaze.

“She’s afraid I’ll ask her to leave,” I said.

“Will you?”

“No.” I picked up a stack of exhibition brochures. “She has to live with what she did. Standing in the corner is a good start.”

I walked across the creaking floorboards, weaving through the chattering locals.

My sister stiffened as I approached.

“The lighting in here is very nice,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

“Daniel rewired the overhead tracks last week,” I replied, keeping my tone perfectly neutral.

A tear spilled over her lower lash line. She quickly wiped it away. “I didn’t think you would let me come today.”

“You’re my sister,” I said flatly. “You get to watch me succeed. But you don’t get to take credit for it.”

She flinched. The truth hit her harder than a scream ever could.

“I’m sorry, Clara,” she choked out. “I was terrified of losing the house. The boutique was failing. Richard offered me a lifeline.”

“You threw Dad an anchor so you could float,” I corrected. “Enjoy the art.”

I didn’t wait for her to formulate an excuse. I turned my back and walked away, handing a brochure to the mayor as I passed him.

The anger that used to boil in my veins was entirely gone. I just felt indifferent.

“Which one is your favorite?” Daniel asked when I returned to the counter.

I pointed to a large canvas in the center of the room. “The autumn storm.”

“The darkest one in the room,” he noted.

“It’s honest. The waves are violent, and the sky is bruised. It doesn’t pretend to be peaceful.”

Daniel nodded slowly. “Jason wanted you to pretend.”

“Jason wanted a mannequin. He got furious when I started moving on my own.”

“And Zoe?”

“Zoe wanted the penthouse. She didn’t care who she had to step on to get the keys.” I picked up a stray piece of charcoal and tossed it into a wooden box. “They deserve each other. They can rule over a kingdom of empty bank accounts.”

Daniel chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “Your father looks proud.”

I glanced over. My dad was now explaining the composition of a sunset piece to the local baker, gesturing wildly with his hands.

“He is,” I said. “He survived the blast. We both did.”

By six o’clock, the bell above the door chimed as the last group of locals filed out into the fading spring afternoon.

Daniel locked the deadbolt. He walked over to the makeshift refreshment table and grabbed two plastic cups. He filled them from a glass pitcher of orange juice.

He walked back and handed me a cup.

“Congratulations, Clara,” he said, holding his cup in the air.

I tapped my plastic rim against his. “For surviving the town gossip?”

“For finishing the exhibit,” he corrected. “Every season. Every light. You captured the exact same ocean, but none of the paintings look identical.”

“The water always changes.”

I took a sip of the sweet juice. A massive, undeniable weight lifted off my chest.

I smiled.

I didn’t force the corners of my mouth up to please a photographer. I didn’t rehearse the expression in a mirror to ensure I looked like the perfect corporate wife.

I just smiled. A real, unreserved release of joy.

Daniel watched me, his amber eyes catching the golden hour sun filtering through the front window. “You look different.”

“I feel different.”

Three years ago, Jason knelt on a pristine beach in Maui. I smiled then, too. But that joy belonged to him. He orchestrated it. He owned it. The second he decided I was no longer useful, he took it away.

Nobody could take this gallery. Nobody could take these paintings.

“Drink up,” Daniel ordered, finishing his juice and tossing the cup into a trash bin. “The sun is dropping.”

We left the studio and walked down the weathered wooden steps to the sand.

The spring air carried a sharp, salty chill. The evening tide washed over the shoreline, erasing our footprints the second we made them.

I didn’t look over my shoulder at the city skyline in the distance. I didn’t check my phone for a manic text from Jason or a legal threat from Zoe. The April Fool’s party felt like a hallucination. A bad movie I walked out of halfway through.

“You’re very quiet,” Daniel said. He walked beside me, our long shadows stretching across the wet sand.

“Just listening to the water,” I replied.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “No regrets?”

“None.”

I faced the horizon. The sky burned orange and deep violet. I inhaled the cold sea breeze, letting it fill my lungs completely.

This time, it is real.