Ex-Wife, Please Have Some Self-Respect

The atmosphere in the VIP lounge had shifted. It was subtle, like a drop in air pressure before a storm. The music was still playing-a smooth, saxophone-heavy jazz number-but Catarina couldn't hear it.

All she could hear was the echo of that automated voicemail.

The subscriber is not available.

She slammed the empty wine glass onto the marble table. A few drops of red liquid splashed onto the white tablecloth, blooming like fresh blood.

"Cat, darling, easy," Atticus said, his voice dripping with that smooth, practiced concern that usually made her knees weak. He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Don't let him ruin my birthday. That's what he wants. He's probably sitting in a tow truck right now, sulking, waiting for you to panic."

"I'm not panicking," Catarina snapped. She pulled away from his touch. "I'm annoyed. There's a difference."

"Of course," Atticus soothed. He stood up, buttoning his jacket. He didn't have the matching vest, but he still looked the part of the dashing artist. "Let's change the mood. Remember college? The karaoke nights at the frat house?"

Catarina's college friends, a gaggle of women in sequins and men in loafers, started to cheer.

"Yes! Sing something!" one of them yelled. "Forget the husband, Cat. He's a buzzkill."

Someone thrust a microphone into Catarina's hand. Another was given to Atticus.

The DJ, reading the room (and the tips), cut the jazz and faded in the intro to a classic duet. "Endless Love."

It was their song. Or at least, the song Atticus always claimed was theirs.

Atticus flashed a winning smile at the crowd, then turned his gaze to Catarina. He looked at her with that intensity that she had spent three years pining for. The intensity that Jorden never had. Jorden was safe water; Atticus was fire.

Atticus began to sing. His voice was decent-trained, theatrical. He moved closer to her, invading her personal space, creating an intimate bubble in the middle of the crowded room.

"My love, there's only you in my life..."

The crowd swooned. Phones came out to record the "perfect couple."

Catarina raised the microphone to her lips. She knew the words. She had sung this with him a hundred times in her head.

But as she opened her mouth, her eyes darted to her phone sitting on the table.

The screen was black.

Still no text. No "I'm sorry, Cat." No "Are you mad?" No "Please forgive me."

Usually, by now, Jorden would have sent a paragraph-long apology. He would be promising to buy her a new dress, promising to make it up to her. His desperation was her safety net. It was annoying, yes, but it was hers.

Now? Nothing.

"The only thing that's bright..." Atticus sang, reaching for her waist.

Catarina missed her cue.

She was staring at the phone. Was he hurt? Chloe said the car was a total loss.

If he's hurt, why didn't he ask for me?

The thought was a splinter in her mind. Jorden always needed her. He was codependent. He couldn't make a decision about dinner without asking her opinion. If he was in a wreck, he should be calling her screaming for help.

His silence wasn't just out of character. It was alien.

"Cat?" Atticus whispered, covering the mic. "Your line."

Catarina shook her head slightly, snapping back to reality. She forced a smile. It felt brittle.

She joined in on the chorus, but her voice was flat. She was going through the motions.

Atticus noticed. His eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his face before he masked it with a passionate high note that drowned her out. He stepped in front of her, soaking up the spotlight, turning the duet into a solo with a backup singer.

When the song ended, the applause was polite but enthusiastic. Atticus beamed, bowing theatrically. He turned to hug her.

Catarina took a half-step back.

It was instinct. A physical rejection she didn't plan.

Atticus froze. His arms hovered in the air for a second before he smoothly converted the hug into a pat on the shoulder.

"You seem tense," he murmured, his breath smelling of expensive scotch and mint. "Here."

He signaled a waiter. A tray of shots appeared. Tequila.

"Let's loosen up," Atticus said, handing her a glass. "To us. And to cutting out the dead weight."

Catarina took the glass. The smell of the tequila hit her nose-sharp, chemical.

Her stomach lurched.

"You can't drink tequila on an empty stomach, Cat. Your ulcer."

Jorden's voice echoed in her memory. He always monitored her drinks. He would have swapped this for a glass of water or ordered her some tapas first. He was annoying about her health. Suffocatingly attentive.

Atticus didn't know about her ulcer. Or he didn't care.

She looked at Atticus. He was already throwing his shot back, laughing with her friends. He looked... shiny. Superficial.

Suddenly, the noise of the club was too much. The laughter sounded shrill. The perfume in the air was cloying.

"I can't," Catarina said, putting the glass down hard.

"What?" Atticus frowned.

"I'm tired," she said. She grabbed her clutch. "I'm going home."

"Home?" Atticus looked offended. "It's barely ten o'clock. And it's my birthday."

"I have a headache," she lied. "And I need to see if... I need to handle the car situation."

"Leave it to the lawyers," Atticus dismissed, grabbing her arm. His grip was a little too tight. "Stay. Don't let him win by ruining your night."

Catarina looked down at his hand on her arm. Her skin crawled.

"Let go, Atticus," she said coldly.

He released her immediately, putting his hands up in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. Just trying to help."

"I'll call you tomorrow," she said, turning on her heel.

She walked out of the VIP lounge, ignoring Chloe's frantic wave. She marched toward the elevator, her heart beating fast.

She wasn't going home to sleep.

She was going home to confront Jorden. She was going to scream at him until he broke, until he apologized, until the world made sense again.

Because this new Jorden-this silent, phone-hanging-up Jorden-terrified her more than she was willing to admit.