Trash the Invites, Trash Him Too

I had been with Christopher for over five years.
That day, I came home with the freshly printed wedding invitations, planning to surprise him.
The kitchen light was warm and inviting. He was laughing and joking with the new housekeeper.
She took a spoonful of soup from his bowl, tasted it, and then playfully tapped his chest. Youre lying. Its not salty at all.
My fingers tightened, crumpling the invitations into a ball. I walked straight to the trash can and threw them in. Looks like my fianc is getting a new girlfriend.

1
Sarah had only been with us for a month. She was the cousin of our regular housekeeper, Mrs. Davis.
A few weeks ago, Christopher had gone skiing and broken his leg. The doctor had ordered two months of strict bed rest. Just then, Mrs. Davis had a family emergency and had to leave in a hurry, so she asked her cousin to fill in for her. I was away on a business trip when she arrived.
With Christopher unable to travel, I, as the vice president, had to oversee the companys out-of-state projects. During that time, he mentioned her a few times in our chats: Sarah is really efficient. And shes a great cook.
I assumed she was around Mrs. Daviss age and mentally filed her under dependable, middle-aged housekeeper.
But when I got home and opened the door, the woman I saw was only a few years older than us. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, her apron was spotless, and her expression was neutral.
I set down my bag and smiled. Sarah, I picked this silk scarf out for you at the mall. Thank you for taking care of Christopher all this time. I took a gift box out of my bag. It was originally for Mrs. Davis. I always brought her a small gift when I returned from a trip, partly as a bonus, and partly because shed been with us for four or five years and felt like family.
Sarah looked at the box but didnt reach for it.
The silence stretched for a moment. Please, dont feel obligated, I added. Its just a little something extra. It wont be deducted from your salary.
She looked up. Miss Vance, this is my job. I havent done anything to deserve a gift. You dont need to give me anything; I will do my job well regardless.
The sound of our voices must have reached the bedroom. Christopher wheeled himself to the doorway. I instinctively moved to help him, but before his wheelchair had even stopped, Sarah was already there, her hand on the handle.
My outstretched hand hovered in the air for a second before I pulled it back. I told myself she was just a no-nonsense, efficient person.
Whats wrong? Christopher asked, looking up at me.
I smiled. Nothing. I was just giving Sarah a gift I bought for her. I held out the scarf.
He took it, glanced at it, and nodded. Claire always has excellent taste. This will look great on you, Sarah. He then handed the box directly to her.
This time, Sarah didnt refuse. She accepted it naturally. Thank you, Mr. Hayes. She paused, then nodded at me. And thank you, Miss Vance.
I mumbled an acknowledgment and took my laundry to the bedroom, making a mental note of the exchange. The gift had ended up in her hands, but who it came from clearly mattered.
Claire, youre in for a treat tonight. Sarah is an amazing cook, Christopher said from his wheelchair, holding my hand. From the open door, I could faintly hear the clatter of pots and pans.
Did you tell her I dont eat cilantro? I reminded him.
Of course. You think Id forget something like that? he said, tapping the tip of my nose with a familiar, playful gesture. His easy manner made me smile, and I pushed the earlier flicker of annoyance aside.
A moment later, the door clicked open. Sir, dinner is ready, Sarah announced as she walked in.
I had just gotten out of the shower. The bathroom was still steamy, and my hair was dripping as I was about to change. She had entered without knocking. I quickly clutched my towel tighter, my expression hardening. Why didnt you knock?
It had always just been me, Christopher, and Mrs. Davis in the house. Mrs. Davis was meticulous about etiquette; she would knock even if she was just bringing a glass of water. Id gotten into the habit of not locking my door at home.
Sarah looked taken aback for a second, a hint of embarrassment on her face. Were all women. Its not a big deal.
A retort died on my lips. I was still undressed. I took a deep breath. Could you both please leave?
Sensing my mood, Christopher quickly intervened. Sarah didnt mean anything by it. Well wait for you outside. He gestured for her to push his wheelchair out.
The door closed, and I heard the sound of the wheels fading down the hallway.
I took another deep breath, grabbed my loungewear from the chair, and quickly dried my hair and got dressed. My reflection in the mirror was still tense. It wasnt just about the small incident; it was the feeling of my boundaries being so easily crossed.

2
When I walked into the living room, Christopher had already started eating. Sarah was also seated at the dining table, her head bowed over her plate. The four dishes and soup were still steaming. My spot was empty. There wasn't even a place setting for me.
When Mrs. Davis was training you, did she not mention that youre not supposed to sit at the table with your employer without permission? I asked, my voice tight with displeasure.
It wasn't that I was being unreasonable. I had invited Mrs. Davis to eat with us before, but she had always insisted on following the rules, citing professional boundaries.
Sarah, however, seemed unfazed. This is how Ive been eating this whole time. Mr. Hayes said it was fine.
Christopher chimed in. Its no big deal, Claire. Come on, sit down and eat.
I didnt move. I just stood there, looking at them. In the silence, the clinking of chopsticks against porcelain sounded jarringly loud.
Christopher, sensing my anger, wheeled himself over and looked up at me. Claire, dont be mad. Please, sit.
Tell her to leave the table, I said.
Claire he started to argue.
Tell her to leave the table, I repeated, leaving no room for negotiation.
After a tense moment, he relented. Sarah, would you mind eating in the kitchen?
Sarahs face tightened. She scraped her chair back, a short, sharp sound against the floor. She seemed to have grown accustomed to her easy dynamic with Christopher, and my return had disrupted it. A flicker of emotion crossed her face before she suppressed it and prepared to stand.
Wait, I said, turning to Christopher. Did you not tell her I dont eat cilantro?
He finally looked down at the table. Almost every dish was sprinkled with it.
Uh He was at a loss for words.
Miss Vance, its not Mr. Hayess fault, Sarah cut in quickly. I forgot while I was cooking. I added it out of habit.
Then remake it, I said flatly.
Claire, let it go. Just pick it out tonight. Sarah will remember next time, Christopher tried to placate me.
I didnt say another word. I walked to the table, picked up the dish closest to me, and dumped its contents into the trash can. The sound of the sauce splattering was sharp and clear. Then no one eats.
Christophers brow furrowed. Claire, what are you doing? He bit back the rest of his sentence, knowing, ultimately, that this was Sarahs mistake.
I ignored them both, grabbed my car keys and purse from the entryway, and left.
I didn't go back that night. Instead, I stayed at my small apartment near the office for a few days. Id bought it for late nights during a big project. It was sparsely furnished but was only a five-minute walk from work.
For days, Christopher bombarded me with messages: What time are you getting off work? Have you eaten? When are you coming home? Normally, he would have just driven over and waited for me downstairs. But with his leg, he was stuck at home, his frustration channeled into a relentless digital assault.
I didnt block him, but I rarely replied, occasionally sending a curt Busy.
On the sixth day, he sent a longer message, asking if I wanted to look at wedding venues with him that weekend. He said hed contacted several planners, checked on dates and budgets, and wanted me to pick my favorite.
His tone was sincere, and I didnt want to drag out the stalemate. I decided to accept the olive branch and went home.

3
When I walked in, a floor lamp cast a soft glow across the living room. On the balcony, Sarah was watering the plants. She glanced up when I entered but said nothing. I didn't greet her either and went straight to the bedroom.
Christopher was on the sofa, a stack of brochures from wedding planners on his lap. They were filled with photos of chapels, outdoor lawns, and grand hotel ballrooms.
He saw me and immediately beckoned me over. Claire, youre finally back. Come, see which one you like.
I sat down and flipped through a few pages, nodding as I looked.
Dont be so hard on Sarah, he began. She had a tough time. Her ex-husband was abusive, and she finally got a divorce. Its not easy raising a kid on her own.
I stopped turning the pages and looked at him. Are you defending her?
He quickly changed his tone, a mix of pleading and placating, and took my arm. Of course not. Im always on your side. I already told her, no more cilantro in the food. His hand was warm, his voice soft.
I looked at him, and the anger inside me began to dissipate. Fine, I said, my voice still a little cool, but the tension was gone.
Just then, there were two knocks on the door. Sir, Miss Vance, dinner is ready.
This time, she was perfectly polite. She waited for us to come out before she brought the food from the kitchen, and she didnt sit at the table. After setting down the dishes, she recited the menu, adding pointedly, None of these have cilantro.
I glanced at the plates. The seasoning had indeed been changed.
Christopher took the opportunity to add, Try it today. If you dont like it, we can adjust it.
I nodded and sat down. The atmosphere was still a bit strained, but it was an improvement. I put the brochures aside to look at after dinner.
After eating, I went to my room to catch up on some emails. As I relaxed, a wave of drowsiness washed over me, and I lay down for a quick nap.
I was drifting in and out of sleep when I heard a clattering sound from my nightstand, like someone was rummaging through the drawer.
I shot up, fumbling for the bedside lamp.
In the sudden light, an eight-or-nine-year-old boy was crouched by the nightstand, my lipstick and a bottle of perfume in his hands.
Who are you?! I jumped out of bed, blocking the door.
The boy glanced at me, said nothing, and bolted for the living room.
I chased after him and grabbed his arm. Who are you? Who let you in? Sarah! Sarah! I yelled.
The sudden confrontation scared him. He threw himself on the floor and started kicking and screaming. I was stunned by his reaction. Just then, I heard footsteps. Sarah came in from outside, saw the boy, and immediately rushed to his side, shielding him.
Miss Vance, what happened? she asked, her eyes wary.
The boy, seeing a familiar face, dropped the act, scrambled to his feet, hid behind her, and made a face at me.
Did you bring him here? I demanded.
Hes my son, she replied. There was no one at home, so I picked him up from school and brought him here for a little while. Before I could say anything, she added, I already asked Mr. Hayes. He said it was okay.
A surge of anger rose in me. I went to the study and dragged Christopher out. He had no idea what was happening.
Whats wrong? he asked, bewildered.
This child. You said he could come into our home? I pointed to the living room.
He nodded. Sarah had no one to watch him. Hes too young to be alone.
I didnt argue. I just pushed him back toward the bedroom. Then how are you going to take responsibility for this?
He followed my gaze to my vanity and froze. It was a disaster. Foundation, blush, and brushes were scattered everywhere. Several lipsticks were broken. Two perfume bottles were open, their contents spilled on the floor, the strong scent overwhelming. One of them was a new Chanel I had just bought.

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