Chapter 5
Day ten.
The change had finally gotten so obvious that Edward couldn't ignore it anymore.
It all started with a post on social media.
Back then, my feed was all about him.
[My husband made dinner. I'm so lucky.] But I was the one who actually cooked it.
[My husband sent me flowers. So romantic.] But I bought them myself, set up the shot, and posted it.
[So grateful to have met you.] The photo was of us together, with him looking expressionless and me smiling brightly.
Funny, right?
Yeah, it was.
On day ten, I posted something new.
Just a painting.
A watercolor I painted in secret, a whale leaping out of the deep, its back covered in blooming flowers.
The caption simply read: [Bluefall.]
No location, no feelings, no mention of him.
Twenty minutes later, it had ninety-seven likes.
Edward wasn't one of them.
He never liked my posts.
But he definitely saw it.
Because that night, when he came home, he gave me an extra glance.
Floating text appeared above Edward's head: [When did she start painting? Didn't she say she'd stop after marrying me?]
He kept the question to himself.
And I didn't explain.
That night, I got a message from Charlotte. [Stella, that painting you posted is gorgeous. Where did you get it?]
There was no floating text to see, and lies sent over private messages came without captions.
But I didn't need the floating text anymore.
I replied, [I painted it myself.]
She went quiet for a good ten seconds.
[Wow, you're amazing!] Then she sent a bunch of rainbow and clapping emojis.
I closed the app.
She had no clue that the painting was in exactly the same style as Bluefall's work.
She probably never even thought to compare them.
After all, to her, I was just a trophy wife who could cook.
What really unsettled everyone happened on day twelve.
Linda came over and found something.
There was a rental agreement sitting on the coffee table.
It was for a one-bedroom apartment at Westside Suites on the west side of town, for 1,600 dollars a month.
The tenant: Stella Summers.
"Stella!"Linda's voice boomed through the living room. "What's this? Are you moving out?"
I came out of the bedroom.
I explained, "It's just a studio I rented. I needed a quiet place to paint, that's all."
"Painting?" Linda's face twisted. "You're a married woman, what are you doing renting an apartment? Do you realize what people will say about the Foster family if word gets out?"
Floating text: [Is she cheating? No way, I gotta tell Edward!]
"Mom, it's just a studio," I said.
"I don't care about your painting!" Linda slammed her hand on the table. "You married into the Foster family, so stay home and behave!"
Floating text: [Seriously? Just a pawn to pay back a debt, and she thinks she can have her own life?]
Pawn.
That was really the word she used for me in her head.
I stood there, looking at the woman I'd called "Mom" for three years.
Her floating text had never once called me "Stella."
To her, I was always "that woman," "the Summers girl," or just "her."
I wasn't even worth a name.
I carefully folded up the rental agreement and tucked it into my bag.
"Mom, I'll talk to Edward about it," I said.
Linda shot back, "You think Edward would ever agree to this? Dream on!"
The sound of the door opening caught my attention.
Edward was home.
Linda immediately rushed over.
She complained, "Edward, can you believe what your wife's up to? She's out there renting an apartment!"
Edward stepped inside and headed into the living room.
He glanced at me.
Floating text: [Seriously, renting a place? What's she planning now?]
"What's going on?" he asked.
He spoke quietly, but his tone was cold.
"I rented a studio," I said.
"A studio?" Edward echoed.
"Yes. I want to start painting again. I need a space of my own," I replied.
Edward was quiet for a few seconds.
Floating text: [Painting? She promised she'd give it up three years ago. Now she's picking it up again? Eh, whatever. It's not a big deal.]
Just as he was about to speak, Linda jumped in. "Edward, don't indulge her! What kind of married woman goes out and rents an apartment? Who does that?"
Charlotte's call came at just the right moment.
But it wasn't a coincidence.
Linda had called her before she even came over.
Half an hour later, Charlotte "just happened to be in the neighborhood" and showed up with a bag of fruit.
Floating text: [Here we go, the show's starting! Ms. Linda says Stella's renting a place, this is totally divorce territory now. Finally, some real drama!]
"Edward, it's great that Stella wants a hobby," Charlotte said with a sweet smile. "But painting? She could use a little corner at home. No need to go out and rent a whole place for that, right?"
Floating text: [Painting at home is enough for her. No need to go out and see the world. Just stay put and behave.]
Linda nodded along enthusiastically. "That's right! Charlotte's absolutely right."
Edward glanced at me, then at his mom and Charlotte.
Floating text: [Charlotte makes sense. Stella's been a little off lately.]
"Stella," he said, "we'll talk about the studio later."
Talk about it later.
That same phrase again.
For three years, that phrase had shut down everything I wanted to do.
I wanted to learn to drive. But all I got was, "We'll talk about it later."
I wanted to adopt a cat. Same answer: "We'll talk about it later."
I wanted to meet up with my old friends. Guess what? "We'll talk about it later."
"We'll talk about it later" was their way of saying "no" without actually saying it.
Back then, I'd just compromise.
"Alright," I'd say.
But today, I didn't.
I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.
"Stella, where are you going?" Linda called after me.
"To the studio," I replied.
"Didn't I just say, " Linda began.
"Mom." I stopped and turned to face her.
I met her eyes, then looked straight at Edward. "The contract's already signed. The deposit's paid.
"If I don't go, that's money down the drain."
Then I opened the door and walked out.
Behind me, Linda was so mad she was pounding the couch.
Charlotte's floating text drifted by one last time.
[Stella, just you wait.]