Eleanor’s phone vibrated with a text from Martina.
- Don’t forget your meds at 10. How are you holding up with all the small talk?
Eleanor smiled, grateful for her physical therapist’s concern. Martina was one of the few bright spots in her life post-accident, tough during their sessions but unfailingly supportive outside of them.
- Watching Victor work his magic, she typed back. I’m practically invisible.
- Their loss, Martina replied instantly. Want me to come rescue you? I can fake a very convincing medical emergency.
Eleanor laughed, earning a curious look from her tablemate.
- Tomorrow’s session still on for 2? she texted.
- Yep. And wear comfortable clothes. We’re trying something new.
Eleanor was about to reply when she saw Victor approaching with Commissioner Lang.
- «And here is the creative genius behind our accessibility initiatives,» Victor announced warmly, his hand landing on Eleanor’s shoulder with practiced affection. «My wife insists that every Miller project be accessible to everyone.»
Eleanor forced a smile.
- «It’s just good design. Buildings should work for all people.»
- «So admirable,» the commissioner gushed. «Victor was just telling me about your accident. Such a tragedy for someone so talented.»
Eleanor held her smile, even as she registered how Victor was framing her story—an inspiring tragedy, her career spoken of in the past tense.
- «I still consult on all our projects,» Eleanor said firmly. «In fact, I’m working on some revisions to the Westridge proposal I’d love to discuss with your office.»
The commissioner looked momentarily flustered, glancing at Victor, who smoothly interjected.
- «Eleanor loves to keep her hand in, as her health allows. Now, Jessica, about that height variance…»
And just like that, Eleanor was dismissed from her own project. She watched Victor lead the commissioner away, already deep in the kind of technical discussion that had once been her domain.
Later that night, as their driver helped Eleanor into the modified SUV, Victor was scrolling through his phone, his face illuminated by the screen’s glow.
- «Draymond wants to meet for breakfast, before the board presentation,» he said, not looking up. «I’ll have Agnes bring you breakfast in bed in the morning.»
- «I could come to the presentation,» Eleanor offered. «It’s our company.»
Victor’s smile was thin.
- «It’s just financials, terribly dull. You’re better off resting up for your therapy session.»
At home, their modern mansion had been retrofitted with ramps and an elevator after Eleanor’s accident. What was once their masterpiece of architectural innovation now felt to Eleanor like an elaborate cage. Victor helped her into the elevator with a practiced efficiency that was supportive but detached, like a nurse with a patient. In their bedroom, he laid out her nightgown and medications while she wheeled herself into the accessible bathroom. Looking at her reflection, Eleanor noted the changes three years had wrought. Still beautiful at 39, but her face was thinner, the dark circles under her eyes now permanent fixtures. Her once-athletic body, now altered by injury and inactivity, felt like a stranger’s.
When she came out, Victor was already in bed, scrolling on his phone.
- «Martinelli confirmed the investment,» he said, still not looking up. «$30 million for the Parkside project.»
- «That’s wonderful,» Eleanor said, struggling to transfer herself from the wheelchair to the bed. Victor didn’t move to help, an omission that would have once shocked her but now felt routine.
- «I’ll be flying to Chicago next weekend to finalize the details,» he continued. «Just two nights.»
Eleanor nodded, cataloging another business trip added to Victor’s increasingly busy schedule.
- «The Chicago team could fly here,» she suggested. «Or I could go with you. I haven’t traveled in months.»
Victor finally looked up from his phone, his expression a mixture of impatience and pity.
- «Eleanor, be realistic. The logistics of traveling with your… condition. It’s complicated. The team needs my full focus.»
The words stung, but Eleanor was used to these gentle dismissals.
- «Of course,» she said quietly. «That makes sense.»
Victor reached over and patted her arm, a gesture that felt more patronizing than affectionate.
- «That’s my practical girl. Now take your meds. You know how you have trouble sleeping without them.»
Eleanor obediently swallowed the pills Victor handed her, wondering when she had become someone who accepted these small indignities without protest. As Victor turned off the light and fell asleep, Eleanor lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Their bedroom, like their marriage, had been remodeled after her accident. Her adjustable, hospital-grade bed, positioned for accessibility, was separated from Victor’s premium mattress by a discreet but uncrossable gap.
The next morning, Eleanor woke to an empty house. Victor had left early for his meeting with Draymond, leaving a note propped against the coffee maker. Breakfast in the fridge. Agnes is coming at 10. Don’t forget your pills. Eleanor crumpled the note, irritated by its condescending tone. She made her own coffee, stronger than the weak brew Agnes prepared, and wheeled herself into Victor’s home office.
Since her accident, Eleanor had been slowly phased out of the company’s day-to-day operations. Her architect’s license remained active, but her designs were now increasingly modified by the firm’s growing team, with Victor’s approval. She scanned Victor’s immaculate desk, looking for the Westridge proposal she’d mentioned to Commissioner Lang. Nothing. The computer was password-protected, and Eleanor realized with a jolt that she no longer knew Victor’s password—something that would have been unthinkable three years ago.
She was about to leave when her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.
- I’m sorry, but you deserve to know the truth about your husband.
Eleanor stared at the message, her heart beginning to pound. Attached was a photo that changed everything. It was Victor, his arm wrapped intimately around a beautiful young woman with a distinctly pregnant belly, walking out of what looked like a private medical clinic. The time stamp was from the previous day, a time when Victor had claimed to be in back-to-back meetings preparing for the board presentation.
The photo burned in Eleanor’s mind as she waited for Victor to come home. The pregnant woman’s face was unfamiliar, but the look of tenderness on Victor’s face was one Eleanor hadn’t seen directed at herself in years.
When Victor finally returned that evening, Eleanor was composed. The phone with the damning photo was hidden in the side pocket of her wheelchair.
- «How was the board presentation?» she asked casually as he loosened his tie.
- «A success. We secured the funding for the Westridge expansion.» Victor poured himself a scotch, not offering one to Eleanor as he once would have. «How was therapy?»
- «Enlightening,» Eleanor replied. «Victor, who is Olivia?»
The question hung in the air. Victor’s hand paused halfway to his lips, the only sign the name registered.
- «Olivia Rhodes,» he said smoothly after a beat. «Our new project manager for Westridge. Why do you ask?»
- Eleanor held his gaze. «Is there anything you want to tell me about your relationship with her?»
Victor set his glass down with careful precision.
- «She’s a talented professional I’ve been mentoring. Eleanor, what is this about?»
Without a word, Eleanor pulled out her phone and showed him the picture. Victor’s expression hardened, but he didn’t look particularly shocked.
- «Are you having me followed?» his voice was cold.
- «Someone sent it to me. I don’t know who.»
Victor’s laugh was humorless.
- «And you immediately jumped to the worst conclusion. That’s your problem, Eleanor. You’ve become so bitter.»
- «She’s pregnant, Victor.»
- «Yes, she is. And her husband is thrilled about it.» Victor’s lie was delivered with practiced conviction. «I was escorting her to an appointment because she felt unwell at the office. As her mentor, I was concerned.»
