Mark returned to the living room and shortly after the laughter resumed. The music was turned up. They seemed to have forgotten the earlier incident or simply didn’t care. They ate, drank, and joked over my pain. The clock struck 4:00 p.m. The sky outside was beginning to darken. With the faint hope of getting a shred of compassion from my husband, I brought the fruit tray to the living room and placed it on the table with my head bowed, trying to avoid Jessica’s triumphant gaze.
Suddenly, amidst the clamor of that suffocating party, the soft purr of a car engine was heard stopping right in front of the house’s fence. It wasn’t the sound of just any car, but the hum of a luxury vehicle’s engine. Several guests sitting near the window looked outside and instantly fell silent. They whispered with tense faces. Mark, who was holding a glass of iced tea and laughing loudly, also stopped abruptly when he saw who was getting out of that car. A sleek black sedan, the kind of car only owned by top executives of major corporations. A uniform chauffeur got out and politely opened the back door.
The festive atmosphere that had been chaotic just a moment ago was suddenly silenced as if someone had hit the mute button. One of Mark’s friends, bewildered, turned off the music. Everyone stood up with a clumsy and respectful attitude. Through the open front door walked a middle-aged man dressed in an impeccable suit, with an unmistakable aura of leadership. It was Mr. Harrison, the owner of the company where Mark worked, the highly respected president. Mark turned pale. He absolutely did not expect his top boss to come to his humble home. Besides, he hadn’t invited him because he didn’t consider himself at that level. Mr. Harrison entered with an impassive expression.
His eyes scanned the entire messy room filled with the remnants of the party. Then his gaze stopped precisely on my eyes, swollen and red. The silence that fell over the living room contrasted dramatically with the noise of the party just a few seconds before and it became suffocating. Mr. Harrison stopped at the threshold, emanating an aura of authority that would intimidate anyone. He wore a very expensive looking dark gray suit that contrasted with the casual shirts of Mark’s friends. His hair, beginning to gray, was neatly combed back, and his penetrating gaze swept the room as if conducting a surprise inspection of a troubled branch office.
There was no smile on his face, only a firm jaw and an unreadable expression. Mark’s body, which just a moment ago had stood tall with an arrogant chin, now seemed to shrink. His face, previously flushed with anger towards me or laughter with his friends, had turned pale as paper. Cold sweat began to bead on his forehead, and his hand, holding a glass, trembled so violently that he spilled some of its contents. Mark hurriedly placed the glass on a nearby table with a movement so clumsy he almost knocked it over. He nervously adjusted the collar of his shirt, trying to gather the fragments of his shattered confidence.
