Leaving the ballroom, the rain began to fall.

I lit a cigarette.

As the smoke swirled around me, I found myself thinking about the day Brad proposed. It seemed like it was raining then too.

We'd known each other since we were three, and we'd fallen in love at sixteen. When Brad had made his first million at twenty-three, he proposed.

"Stella, will you marry me?"

He was on one knee, his hand trembling as he held the ring.

I looked at him and asked, "Will you always love me?"

He was emphatic, without hesitation:

"Forever."

I believed him then.

But true feelings are so easily changed.

At twenty-seven, Brad took up with a beautiful young woman.

After I discovered her, he knelt before me, weeping, begging me not to leave, promising he'd change.

But once is never the only time.

Now, he no longer bothered to hide it, and I no longer bothered to make a scene.

I'd had enough. I'd seen through it.

Like Seraphina.

Brad treated her differently. He warned me, he threatened me. If this had happened three years ago, I probably would have been heartbroken.

But now, I just felt tired and disgusted.

I knew, better than anyone, that Brad would never leave me for Seraphina. It wasn't about feelings. After so many years of marriage, our lives were too entangled. Divorce would be messy and wouldn't be beneficial for him.

He wouldn't do it.

And he was certain that I wouldn't do it either.

After all, I had mentioned divorce more than once over the years, but I'd always backtracked.

At first, it was love, and later, it was stubbornness.

But either way, after all these years of enduring it, I should be used to it.

But this time.

I suddenly felt disgusted and didn't want to play along with him anymore.

The ashes fell.

My fingers were shaking.

A waiter approached. "Mrs. Hamilton, Mr. Hamilton says it's time to cut the cake."

Go back?

I came back to my senses, and after a moment, I stubbed out my cigarette, and gave a gentle smile.

"Tell Brad I won't be coming back."