Page 72 of Beyond our Forever

I search among the crowd that fills the Truman house through a quiet corner, fortunately, in a corridor I find refuge and, heavily, I drop into the chair that is there.

I breathe, I swear I do, yet nothing but fire reaches my lungs. I’m drowning.

“Thia,” Emilia whispers plaintively. “I was there last night, I saw it with these eyes that the worms won’t eat because I’m going to be cremated. He was in a clear romantic attitude with that woman.”

I close my eyes, absorbing her words, trying to put them in my head, because the tangle that is forming in my mind is like an avalanche that is coming down the hill without control.

“I have to talk to him,” I repeat more to myself than to her.

I don’t care about her opinion, or what she’s going to tell me. I have to talk to Bruce and it must be right now.

“What you need is to take the blindfold off, have a few drinks and have a good time,” she suggests, drawing the waiter’s attention with her right hand. “Don’t go, Ilythia, the night is young.”

I’m unable to think of anything other than Bruce and the images that Emilia showed me. It’s beyond me.

Over and over again his words come to me, what I saw reflected in those dark eyes that I’ve loved so much. What we’ve experienced.

It is impossible that it is a lie.

Impossible.

“Bruce, answer,” I ask, looking at the phone. As if the gadget could offer me some magic solution.

“Ilythia,” Emilia yells. “You’re exasperating, when are you going to learn? I know more about men than you. Bruce is history, let’s have fun.”

A glass half-filled with amber liquid appears almost magically in front of me and my friend is very capable of shoving it down my throat.

To avoid a scene, I take a few sips, until I feel the tension begin to dissipate.

But my thoughts are still focused on him. Just on him.

Bruce, where are you?

Come on, please.

Mikel arrives and soon, between the two of them, they are making sure that I enjoy the night.

“Tell her, Mike,” Emilia orders. “If her husband doesn’t treat her like a queen, to kick him and send him to…”

“Enough,” I interrupt her, because I’ve had enough of her speech. I haven’t even congratulated Steph, I’m going to wish her happy birthday and give her the gift.

From my handbag, I take out a small box wrapped in silver paper and go to look for the birthday girl, I need to see other people, talk about something else.

To distract me. Or rather, to try to do it while my husband appears.

I put on a good face, even though I’m falling apart inside. I put on a good face, even though my world is imploding. I put on a good face because nobody has to know about my pain.

Arriving where Stephanie is, I greet her. I give her the gift and she smiles, her mouth strangely swollen.

What has she done? She looks like she was stung by a bee.

“And your husband?” she asks with stiff lips. They look like a pair of freshly inflated tires.

Here we go again.

“Working,” I reply with a shrug. “The hotel project they are planning has made him crazy.”

“And how is everything going between you?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. At least that’s what I think. “Is it true that he lives in your house again?”

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