Chapter 13 - THE WHISPERS OF THE PAST
Midway through the evening, while stepping out onto the quiet marble balcony to catch a breath of cool night air overlooking Copley Square, the glass door behind me clicked open. I turned, expecting Natalie or one of the catering staff, but instead found myself face-to-face with Cynthia Vance—one of Daniel’s former senior partners' wives, a woman who had spent years looking down her nose at my freelance graphic design work while glorifying her own superficial charity committees. "Rachel," Cynthia gasped, her eyes sweeping over my emerald gown with undisguised shock. "Good heavens, I heard through the grapevine that you and Daniel split up, but I had no idea you were... well, rubbing shoulders with the Sterling family."
I leaned back against the stone railing, swirling my sparkling water with calm detachment. "Life takes unexpected turns, Cynthia. Some people clean up their act; others watch their husbands lose their jobs and reputations in federal embezzlement scandals." Cynthia’s face flushed a bright, mottled crimson. "That was a terrible misunderstanding," she stammered defensively. "Daniel was set up by corporate restructuring! He’s trying so hard to rebuild his life in Cambridge—" "If you're so concerned about his living arrangements, Cynthia, feel free to invite him over to your guest house," I replied sweetly, offering a cool, polite smile. "As for me? I prefer the view from this side of the balcony." Without waiting for her stuttered response, I turned back toward the brilliantly lit ballroom, leaving the relics of my old social circle choking on their own hypocrisy.
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