[Cordelia]
I was surprised this morning by breakfast in bed and a cheery smile. “Good morning, Madam,” April is in her full maid uniform today, including her nice dress and apron, even her hair styled in a neat little bun. “If it pleases you I have brought you breakfast.” If it pleases me? Something isn’t quite right about her today. “Th…ank you,” I say hesitantly. “Are we expecting company?” Maybe that is why she is dressed so fine and practicing her manners. “A foreign dignitary, perhaps? The President?” “No, Madam. It is just the two of us today.” A large smile stretches across her face as she glances out the window into the garden. “It is a beautiful day. I hear it is good to get a little exercise as you recover from being ill. When you are done with breakfast, might I suggest a walk in the garden?” “I’m not sure it is a good idea,” I say honestly. Even though I am feeling so much better with more energy, there is something about April’s behavior that is making me nervous. She’s been cruel to me for the last 5 years. I don’t trust this sudden kindness, April bows her head, her hands folded in front of her contritely. “Madam, it is Master Atlas’ wish that I take better care of you and treat you with the consideration you deserve, as Lady of the house,” she keeps her face pointed down as she adds. “Please allow me to do my job. Startled, my hand flutters to my chest, resting above my heart, my body overwhelmed with a sudden rush of warmth. Atlas cares about how I’ve been treated enough to scold April, his childhood nanny. Is it possible that he might actually…care? I nod my head in acquiescence and eat the rest of my breakfast in silence. Despite my distrust of April’s motives, the fresh air does feel good and the garden is indeed beautiful today. What was that? A flash of bright color blinks between the trees. As it becomes more clear, I see that it is a beautiful woman, her hair pulled up professionally wearing a bright pink dress and jacket. In her hand is the handle of a large suitcase, like the kind you might take on a long vacation. She is marching towards the front door like a woman on a mission. It takes a moment for her face to come into focus, but then I realize exactly who she is: Sydney, Atlas’ secretary. The pretty blond who looks like my sister. But why is she here at my house? With a suitcase? I don’t know why, but a sense of panic overtakes me. Feeling a sudden rush of energy, I chase after her, leaving April behind and rushing to meet her at the door. I arrive just as her hand hovers over the doorbell. “Excuse me, why are you here?” I ask, my tone hard and cold. “What are you doing here, at my house?” She takes a step back, her eyes wide and innocent. “Atlas said I should come.” She blinks her long lashes at me and I feel a rush of heat at her casual use of my husband’s name, reminding me how familiar the two of them had been in the cafe. A flood of scenarios flash behind my eyes, none of them good. He wouldn’t dare to bring his mistress into our house. He wouldn’t be that disrespectful…would he? “With a suitcase? A large suitcase?” I continue to interrogate her, my arms folded across my chest, blocking her entry. I look around. April is missing. I wonder where she ran off to. I turn my attention back to the blond on my doorstep. “Why would he send you?” my eyes narrow suspiciously. Noticing my discomfort, her smile brightens. “He wanted me to come. And I,” she blushes prettily, looking to the side to avoid my eyes as she adds. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint him.” My heart stops beating in my chest. Her words are kind, her manner sweet, but something is sparkling in her eyes that I do not trust. There is no way I am letting her past the front door. “I don’t believe you. Leave the suitcase here and I will ask my husband personally when he returns.” I reach forward to grab the handle of the suitcase. She refuses to comply and we spend the next 15 minutes discussing whether or not it is proper for her to be alone at my husband’s house with a suitcase. Neither one of us is willing to let go, both of us refusing to budge. Something over her shoulder catches her eye for a moment, she turns back to me, her smile returning, and shouts in her loudest voice, projecting as if she were on stage. “I don’t know why you are being so mean to me! I’m just trying to do my job!” She yanks the handle and I begin to stumble forward. I pull back in an attempt to regain my footing, my hand still on the handle. But then something weird happens. She releases the handle. I take a shaky step back as she falls hard to the side, stumbling backward, landing hard. “OW!” she whines loudly, rubbing her hip. “Why did you push me!” A set of footsteps crashes down the walk and I look over to see Atlas as he rushes to her aid. Kneeling beside her he checks to see if she is injured. Outside of a run in her stocking, she looks perfectly fine but he still scowls up at me. “Cordelia!” he growls, “What did you do? Why did you push Sydney?” Push her? What? “I didn’t push her, she fell on her own!” “Do you expect me to believe that?” he scoffs indignantly. “I saw what happened. You can’t lie to me.” “Oh, it’s not her fault,” Sydney’s tone is all forgiveness as she leans heavily on his arm while he helps her stand. “I just have weak ankles.” Atlas turns on me. “I knew you were selfish, but I realize were vindictive.” He scolds. “Adults settle their arguments without resorting to violence.” “I didn’t touch her!” I insist, taking a step towards him, standing my ground. “She’s been arguing with me insisting she was invited to be here.” Atlas looks between us for a long moment, and then turns towards me, his face twisted into a sneer. “She isn’t lying. I did tell her to come here.” I take a step back, startled. He takes the suitcase handle out of my hands as he adds. “She’s staying the night. It’s too late for her to return home.”[Atlas] Cordelia pushes past us as she rushes up the stairs. A few seconds later I hear the sound of her door slamming. I could tell that Sydney’s presence was causing her pain. Maybe I should go upstairs and apologize but I was feeling petty after our argument this morning. Sydney coughs. For a moment I had forgotten the guest I invited over that I hadn’t meant to invite over. “I’m sorry you had to see that. My wife and I…” how do I phrase this without giving too much away. “she can be a bit…well dramatic.” I settle on a word. It doesn’t feel fair, but it also fits. Sydney shrugs as if none of it matters. “Um…where should I put this,” she indicates my oversized suitcase. I ask her to set it down near the stairs and I notice that she has a slight limp. Cordelia must have pushed her down harder than I thought. “Hey, wait,” I stop her before she can reach the stairs. Taking the suitcase from her, I bring over a nearby chair and instruct her to sit while I take the suitcase an
[Cordelia–earlier this evening] He doesn’t believe me. He can’t even see me. And he thinks this is all my fault. Watching Atlas speaking with his secretary in hushed tones as turns his back on me reminds me of the scene from the other day in the cafe. All the small, tender touches between them, are so different from how he treats me. Even right now, his hand is on the small of her back protectively as he pulls the suitcase across the threshold. I watch the scene unfold, helpless to do anything. Here I am again, the fool, watching him love another like a stranger in my own relationship. Only now he is bringing her into our home, flaunting his relationship right under my nose. My world is spinning. With blurry eyes I rush past them on the stairs, heading to my room. I slam the door behind me and land with a crash on my bed. The mumble of their voices in the entryway below just confirms what I already knew. “He doesn’t love me and he never will,” I mumble into my pillow. “Fo
[Atlas] A letter from Cordelia’s lawyer arrived two days later requesting that I schedule a day for us to meet and go over the terms of our divorce. When she left that stormy night, I never thought she’d seriously go through with it. I expected her to come crawling back the next day, wet and resigned. She never learned how to take care of herself alone. She moved from her parents' house directly into mine. She’s never had to do anything for herself. When her lawyer’s aide dropped this letter off at my office he was swift and kind. It has all been handled in such a mature and professional manner I find myself glowing in pride for how much Cordelia has grown. I guess she grew up while I wasn’t watching. Eventually, I’m going to need to call her lawyer. Set up an appointment to speak with Cordelia. Maybe even convince her to not go through with this divorce. But not today. Today I am finally finalizing the deal with Bryant Textiles. The letter has been on my desk for a week
[Cordelia] After I hung up with my lawyer, I wasn’t sure where I should go. I couldn’t go to my parents, they would just send me straight back here to “fix” things. I didn’t really have any friends…my whole adult life has been tied up in being the wife of Atlas Steele. When I got married at the age of 20, I dropped out of school. The only person who had ever made any effort to stay connected was my old college roommate Tilly. I almost didn’t call her, I was worried that my troubles would just be a burden, but when she answered, she was overjoyed to hear from me and immediately invited me to meet her for drinks and catch up. We hit it off immediately and it was like we had never been separated. When I told her about my marriage and the disaster it had become, she offered me her spare room. She didn’t want rent or anything for it. The only price she asked of me was to “use this place to heal–and start designing again!” Because Tilly had grown up to become Mathilda Madison, de
[Cordelia] “I’m surprised to see you here.” Sydney’s reflection takes up most of the mirror. Her face is twisted into a small, mysterious smile. She is holding a full glass of champagne in her finely manicured hands as she circles me. Everything about her glows–her hair, her gown, the points on her stiletto shoes. “Do you like my outfit?” she takes a sip of her champagne before adding “Atlas bought it for me. I didn’t need him to, of course, but he does like to spoil me.” “Um hmm,” I murmur, “Excuse me, I…” She puts her empty hand down on the counter, blocking me in. “He’s very generous,” she takes a moment to gently caress the jade necklace that graces her neck like the kisses of a lover, “but I’m sure you already know that.” The way she hits that last word, like an accusation, tells me that she knows it isn’t true. Seeing the hurt in my eyes, she digs deeper. “You should have seen him this week. I was so proud of him. We have been working late nights all year. He looked s
[Sydney–Earlier that Evening] “What about this one?” I twirl in front of a mirror. Atlas is standing to the side, speaking with the shop attendant. He looks up from his phone briefly, giving a weak thumbs up. Sighing, I go back into the dressing room, shaking my head at his inattentiveness. To be fair he didn’t ask to be here, but after his last-minute invitation, I guilted him into giving me a ride. Making a decision, I picked the dress that got the most reaction from Atlas, a gold lame ensemble dripping with crystals and gold sequins. As I go up to the counter to pay, I realize I must have forgotten my credit card at home. “Oh shoot,” I swear, turning to the shopkeeper. “Can you just put this on hold for me? Last name, Bryant.” “What’s wrong,” hearing my distress Atlas puts down his phone. “Don’t you need that dress for tonight?” “I forgot my card at the office,” I sigh, showing him the inside of my empty wallet. “Not a problem,” he pulls a platinum card from his inside co
[Cordelia] When choosing what to wear this morning, I wanted something that could make me feel confident and strong. I ended up wearing large sunglasses and a designer dress–my armor to hide the fact that I had spent the night crying and I still feel sick to my stomach with anger and sadness. Atlas is ready and waiting at the office when I arrive, looking as freshly pressed as always. Sydney is standing just behind him, her head down, holding a briefcase and her coat. She is also immaculately dressed, her pink Chanel suit a perfect complement to his darker attire. Both sets of lawyers stand framing a large oval table. On that table are several stacks of paper arranged in order of what needs to be signed and by whom. Divorce is never simple, but a divorce with billions of dollars on the line is always a mess requiring many hands. Our marriage was more than just a marriage, it was a contract that combined our family fortunes and businesses. Now all of that hard work of combin
[Cordelia] My body is shaking as I drive across town and I am still in shock over my mother’s words when I pull into the parking lot of the hospital. A kind nurse shows me the way to my father’s room. After thanking her, I stand outside his door, my hand above the handle as I try to calm my nerves. My father might be dying. Hearing that from my mother hurt in ways I wasn’t expecting. It is one thing to know it might happen someday and another to see it happen before your eyes. We’ve tried over the years to build a stronger relationship, but there is something about the two of us that just doesn’t mix. Even when I try to do my best to please him, it always comes across as a lack of effort on my part or some type of disobedience if I choose to do it my own special way. It has never been my intention to hurt him, but every time I try to be my own person, it seems to harm our relationship. As I take my last deep breath, the boisterous sound of my father’s laughter rings out i