Chapter 1A New Decade Begins with a Bottle of Perfume

I was scrolling through Instagram when I stumbled upon a post from an actress in my husband's latest film. It was a photo dump from the wrap party.

[Thanks for the amazing wrap gift, Nathaniel!]

The last photo in the carousel was a close-up of a perfume bottle on her makeup vanity.

A silver bottle, engraved with my initials.

I deliberately liked the post, then immediately called my private doctor.

"I need to change my prenatal appointment to a termination."

Next, I posted an Instagram story, visible only to my Close Friends list.

The first slide was a picture of my signature on the procedure’s consent form.

The second was the cover of a set of divorce papers. The caption read: [Ten years ends today.]

…

“Aurora!”

The anesthesia was just wearing off when I saw Nathaniel standing in the doorway of my hospital room, his face a mask of cold fury.

He was clutching his phone, the screen displaying a screenshot of my Instagram story.

“We’ve been trying for a baby for two years. We’ve seen every specialist, tried every treatment, and we finally get pregnant! And you throw it all away because of a bottle of perfume?”

He strode to my bedside, his finger practically jabbing me in the face.

“And this garbage you posted! Are you not happy unless you’re making a public spectacle of our lives?”

My body felt weak, and a dull ache throbbed in my lower abdomen, but I managed to push myself up to a sitting position. I looked at him calmly.

“Did you sign them?”

“What?”

“The divorce papers.”

I nodded toward the folder on the nightstand.

“They were delivered to your studio three days ago.”

“Nathaniel,” I said, my voice flat. “There’s a line of women from here to Paris who would kill to have your child. You can drop the act with me.”

That remark shattered his composure. He swept the nutritional meal a nurse had just brought in off the table. The rich chicken broth splashed across the floor.

“Aurora! What the hell is this really about? Is it just about some stupid bottle of perfume? Isabelle mentioned she liked the scent, so I gave it to her! It was nothing! Is that really a reason to kill our baby and demand a divorce?”

“I gave it to her.”

He said it so casually.

I looked at him, and my mind flashed back ten years. I had just finished my first role with actual lines. The paycheck was a measly eight hundred dollars.

To celebrate, I spent an entire afternoon at a high-end boutique, and finally, using half of my living expenses for the month, I bought a limited-edition bottle of ‘Silver Iris.’

That night, I carefully spritzed it onto a tester strip and posted a picture of it online.

“My very first perfume, to commemorate my very first role.”

Three minutes later, my phone rang. It was Nathaniel.

“Aurora, you bought perfume?”

The disapproval in his voice was so thick I could feel it through the phone.

“That ‘Silver Iris’? It’s over three thousand dollars a bottle. Do you have any idea how much I’m spending right now trying to land that supporting role in the new Pierce film? I need every cent for networking.”

His words stunned me. The hand holding the tester strip began to tremble.

“I… I used my own savings. And I already set aside my living expenses for the month…”

“You set them aside?” Nathaniel scoffed.

“Aurora, can you stop being so vain? Are you going to eat that perfume? Or do you think that just because you’re with me now, you can start throwing money around?”

The call lasted twenty minutes.

I sat there, the phone hot against my ear, watching the scent on the paper slowly fade, and then I deleted the post.

In the ten years since, Nathaniel’s pay went from five thousand an episode to thirty million a film.

He bought me bags, watches, and jewelry, but never again did he buy me perfume.

Once, at a brand event, the organizers gifted us a full set of their new fragrances. I picked one up and lingered on it for a moment too long.

On the car ride home, Nathaniel spoke, his voice cool and distant.

“Some people haven’t landed many roles, but they sure have developed expensive tastes. What is it now? Starting a collection?”

I quietly put the bottle down. From that day on, I never mentioned anything related to fragrance in public again.

I told myself he just didn’t care for perfume. That he was just blunt. That he just wasn’t… thoughtful.

Until I saw that bottle of Silver Iris in Isabelle’s Instagram post.

It was sitting carelessly in the corner of her vanity, next to lipsticks and compacts, like any other ordinary object.

And in the background of the photo, Nathaniel was leaning in, speaking to her, a gentle, tender smile on his face that felt like a knife in my gut.

In that single moment, a decade of self-deception crumbled into dust.

It wasn't that he didn't know how. It wasn't that he wasn't capable of it. It was just that his thoughtfulness, his indulgence… it was never meant for me.

“Just because of a bottle of perfume?”

Nathaniel looked at me as if I’d told the world’s most pathetic joke, his expression twisting.

“Aurora, Isabelle is new to the industry. The director was tearing her apart on set every day. I just felt sorry for her and gave her a small gift as encouragement! And you’re going to get an abortion and divorce me over something so trivial?”

“Are your pregnancy hormones messing with your head? Are you thinking clearly?”

He paused, then a look of dawning comprehension spread across his face, his lips curling into a sneer. “Oh, I get it.”

“You’re just using this as an excuse. This is your revenge for me calling you vain all those years ago, isn't it?”

“Wow, Aurora. Ten years, and you’re still holding a grudge.”

He let out a short, sharp laugh.