Chapter 3Done Being The Performative Wife

The drive home was a blur.

I gripped the steering wheel, my mind spinning, trying to rationalize it.

Maybe I really had misinterpreted her. Sometimes the older generation just lacks the vocabulary for gratitude. Maybe her intentions were good, but her delivery was just harsh.

I clung to that fragile hope until I walked up to my own front door and heard voices drifting from the entryway.

Through the crack in the door, I watched Martina pull a velvet box from her purse. Inside was a breathtaking, antique sapphire and diamond bracelet. She pressed it firmly into Brittany’s hands.

"Brittany, this is our family’s most precious heirloom. I want you to have it. Keep it safe."

Brittany made a pathetic show of pushing it away, though her fingers were already curling around the velvet.

"Mom, no. You should give this to Cecilia. If I take it, she’s going to be so upset."

"Oh, nonsense. Take it. You and her are completely different breeds. I might be old, but I’m not blind. I know exactly what’s going on."

Martina’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, dripping with venom. "You see how she operates. She’s obsessed with showing off. She always has to compete with you, always has to have the best of everything. I practically live on top of her, and her family has already gotten more than enough out of me. This belongs to you."

Then, Martina leaned in, her lips practically brushing Brittany’s ear.

"Don't worry about her throwing a fit. I already gave her one. Yours is the real deal. Hers is a cheap imitation."

"You have no idea. She follows me around every single day, panting and begging for my approval like a pathetic dog. It is so exhausting."

The two of them locked eyes and giggled—a sharp, intimate sound that echoed in the foyer.

Standing on the porch, I instinctively touched my wrist, feeling the lightweight, cloudy-stoned bracelet she had given me for Christmas.

My heart didn't just break; it iced over. The warmth I had harbored for this woman died in an instant.

I pushed the door open.

The heavy oak slammed against the wall. The two women jumped, their giggles dying in their throats.

Martina immediately faked a dry cough, smoothing down her blouse.

"Oh, Cecilia, perfect timing! Brittany and I were just talking about hitting the med-spa tomorrow. You should come with us."

I didn't say a word. I slipped off my heels and placed them neatly in the closet.

Martina sauntered over to me, her voice sickeningly sweet. "My skin has been so irritated lately. I wonder if that celebrity dermatologist you mentioned last month has any openings?"

A cold smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. This was always her move. The subtle manipulation. The expectation that I would leap into action.

Yesterday, I would have been on the phone in seconds, begging the receptionist to squeeze her in. And tomorrow, at the spa, I would have quietly slipped away to pay the massive bill for all three of us.

But today? I was officially done playing the "performative" fool.

"Mom," I said, my voice eerily calm. "If your skin is irritated, you probably just aren't drinking enough water. You should really just drink some chamomile tea and rest. Specialists are mostly just a scam to take your money anyway."

Martina froze, blinking at me as if I had just spoken a foreign language.

A nervous tension rippled across her face. She probed, "Cecilia... are you still upset about what I said at the venue today?"

I flashed her a blinding, utterly hollow smile.

"Actually, Martina, I think you were completely right. Spending hundreds or thousands of dollars on a single facial? It’s wasteful. It’s not how people should build a real life."

I lobbed every single one of her insults right back into her face.

The color drained from her cheeks. She looked nauseous.

A dark, twisted satisfaction bloomed in my chest, and I leaned in, twisting the knife.

"Besides, Mom, at your age, what’s the point of all those expensive treatments? Who exactly are you trying to look so glamorous for? It's a bit much, don't you think?"

Martina’s eyes bulged. Her jaw dropped open in pure shock.

She started to tremble, a fine shake that rattled her shoulders.

"You... how dare you speak to me like that!"

Watching her choke on her own medicine, the suffocating anger that had been crushing my chest all afternoon finally began to evaporate.