Page 1 of The Gathered Fragments of Us
Chapter 1: The Purse
~Felicity~
The Dior bag gleamed under the kitchen lights like a beacon of everything wrong with my marriage.
I stood frozen in the doorway. The grocery bags were cutting into my fingers as I watched my stepdaughter, Macy, unconsciously trace her fingers over the embossed leather.
It was the exact shade of powder beige I'd sent him in the screenshot. The precise gold hardware I'd included and then texted to Caden weeks ago with the message:
Me:This is what I want for my birthday.
Me:Please don't send Lauren to get something for me this year. I just want this.
Me:Nothing else... Just this.
"That's a beautiful purse, Macy," I said, forcing my voice to remain calm and steady.
Caden's head snapped up from the schoolwork in front of them. His blue eyes widened with what was clearly panic. His voice cracked a bit as he said, "Oh, hey babe. Didn't hear you come in." His voice sounded gravelly, and his gaze darted between me and the purse. "We were just—"
"Look, Felicity! I found it today!" Macy chirped, innocently and excitedly holding the bag up for me to see. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Dad said it was for the first day of school next month. You guys are the best! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!"
Before she could hurry to me and 'thank me' for something I had no hand in—because it was my birthday gift, not herfirst day of school gift—the grocery bags slipped from my numb fingers.
"Shit." Caden jumped up as the bags hit the ground and a jar of my favorite tomato basil sauce shattered across our kitchen floor. "Felicity, are you okay?"
No, I'm clearly not okay.I thought them, but the words wouldn't come out—stuck in my throat instead. I stood there and stared at the mess the sauce had made.
My birthday was in one week. The purse--my fucking purse, the one thing I'd specifically asked for—was now in the hands of an eleven-year-old for the first day of school.
I coughed, unable to speak. Silently, I grabbed paper towels from the counter, tossing towels on the floor to contain the sauce before it spread any further.
My eyes were on the ground when I said, "Macy, honey, why don't you take your homework upstairs?"
"But we're not done—"
"Now, please." I snapped out. The sharp edge in my voice made both their heads shoot up from where they'd been watching me clean the sauce.
I sighed. My shoulders drooping, and I softened my voice. I looked up and gave Macy a small smile that should have shouted to my husband how much my heart was breaking. "You can finish after dinner. I just need to talk to your dad for a minute."
Macy gathered her things, clutching the designer purse like a security blanket. "Okay. Are you okay, Felicity? Is something wrong?" She looked back and forth between me and Caden, her head volleying.
"Of course not, sweetheart." The lie burned my throat. "Head on upstairs. We'll call you for dinner when it's ready."
Satisfied, she bounced out, the stupidly expensive bag swinging from her thin shoulder. A bag I had no doubt would be battered within a week by an eleven-year-old's carelessness. Not her fault though. She had no idea what Dior even meant. Nope—this was all Caden's fault.
"Felicity—" Caden started.
I shushed him and, once she was out of hearing range, I spat out, "Don't." I went back to cleaning the sauce up. "Just... don't."
"Let me explain," he said. I looked up at him in disbelief, but he couldn’t help himself.
"I'd hidden it in the back of her closet. Since she was only going to be here for the weekend, I never thought she would see it." Yup. Like I thought—all Caden's fault.
I said nothing, yet he just kept talking. "She found it when she was looking for her old ballet shoes." His voice was shaking a bit. "She fell in love with it, kept going on about how sophisticated it made her feel, how the other girls would think she was so grown up..." He kneeled beside me, reaching for the paper towels. "What was I supposed to say?"
"How about 'That's Felicity's birthday present'?" I jerked away from his touch. "How about 'No, sweetheart, that belongs to Felicity? How about literally anything other than giving away the one fucking gift I have actually asked you for—in years!?"
His face went through a series of expressions—guilt, frustration, then I saw that defensive set of his jaw take hold, and I knew he wasn't going to listen anymore. He started putting the remaininggroceries on the counter and said, "It's just a purse, Felicity. I'll go get you another one."
