She fought the urge to get out of the car and scream that she heard everything. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel, her mind racing with thoughts that had nowhere to go.
— Yeah, man, you’re in a tough spot, — David said, shaking his head slightly. — But I feel for Eleanor, too. You’re still in your prime, but she’s not getting any younger. It’ll be hard for her to find someone else at her age.
That last comment washed over Eleanor like a bucket of ice water. She was only forty-four. She had always considered herself an energetic, well-kept, confident woman. She ran her own business, carried herself with grace, and was a supportive wife and mother. And now, someone in Mark’s inner circle had just dismissed her as old.
Just then, Mark’s phone rang. His face shifted into its usual cool, professional mask, as if the words just spoken meant nothing. David continued to study him, his expression a mixture of irony and pity.
Eleanor’s breath caught in her throat, but tears didn’t come. Instead, a wave of cold fury and resolve washed over her. She realized this wasn’t just a mistake, a foolish fling. It was a betrayal they had discussed behind her back, one they considered acceptable. Eleanor remembered stopping by Mark’s office unannounced a few days ago and seeing a huge bouquet of roses on Amber’s desk. Amber had explained they were for some corporate event, and Eleanor hadn’t questioned it. Now, the memory felt like a blatant mockery. Amber had been sitting, and Eleanor couldn’t see her stomach behind the desk.
Eleanor took a deep, steadying breath, straightened her shoulders, and suddenly knew exactly what she had to do. Leaving quietly, locking herself in a room to cry—that was too easy. She would not let them turn her into a victim. A plan began to form in her mind, a revenge she would exact not with shouting, but with action.
She carefully closed the car window and, giving herself a small, determined smile in the mirror, opened the door. Her face was bright and friendly. Her voice, cheerful.
— David! Good afternoon! — Eleanor walked up to the men as if she hadn’t heard a word. — What a pleasant surprise to see you here!
David flinched, his smile turning uncertain. He had no idea how long she’d been there or what she might have overheard. Mark quickly pocketed his phone, pretending he had just noticed his wife.
— You’re here already? — he asked, feigning surprise. — I didn’t even see you pull up.
Eleanor tilted her head, acting as if nothing was wrong.
— Just got here. I wanted to say hello and congratulate David on his upcoming anniversary. You’re looking wonderful.
There was a subtle, almost imperceptible edge of mockery in her voice, just sharp enough for the man who had just called her old. David hesitated, then mumbled his thanks. Mark tried to take control, suggesting they get going. But Eleanor knew this was just the first step. She would turn their confidence into their greatest weakness.
On the drive, Eleanor chatted with her husband about trivial things. She asked which tie would best match his pale blue shirt, pointed out a well-designed suit on a billboard, and wondered aloud if she should switch to a lighter perfume. The questions were like smooth stones skipping across the surface of a clear stream. Mark played along, matching her light tone, and visibly relaxed. His wife was busy with domestic details, predictable, under control. It was a convenient illusion, and Eleanor was happy to provide it.
Mark let his guard down, convinced Eleanor hadn’t heard his conversation with David. In the first boutique, she asked the sales associate to bring several dresses. A rack of colors appeared, and Eleanor requested a fitting room by the window. She tried on each outfit thoughtfully, as if assembling a new identity: a soft shoulder line, a defined waist, the perfect length for a confident stride. Mark sat in a low armchair, scrolling through his phone, occasionally looking up when the curtain parted. Eleanor would emerge slowly, turning to face the mirror and then him, a performer on a stage he had long ago stopped noticing.
The associate suggested belts, brooches, and scarves, each accessory completing the look. A few times Mark grunted “it’s fine,” and once, “yeah, that one’s good.” Eleanor smiled as if this were an ancient ritual of approval, with roles and lines set in stone for centuries.
Once the dresses were chosen, she moved to the shoe department. Her fingers glided over the leather heels, and she selected a pair that matched one of the dresses perfectly. She picked up a handbag in nearly the same shade, creating a look of intention, not chance. Mark raised an eyebrow as they passed the jewelry counter, and Eleanor, as if struck by a sudden impulse, asked to see a delicate chain with a teardrop-shaped gemstone pendant. There was something resolute about its shape; it held the light within, refusing to let it spill. Eleanor studied it for a long time, holding it against her neck, before asking for it to be wrapped up.
Mark hesitated for a second, then silently took out his credit card…
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