Chapter 3: The Banquet and the Betrayal

At the Law School Graduation Banquet three years ago, I fell in love with Caleb Foster, the third-ranked candidate, at first sight.

That night, the banquet hall glittered with fairy lights and champagne bubbles. The band played something old and slow, and the smell of gardenias mixed with bourbon in the air. Caleb looked like he belonged in a magazine—confident, composed, flashing a shy smile my way from across the dance floor. The music was a slow waltz, and my heart skipped in time.

Within three days, he sent someone to my home to propose.

Mama nearly fainted with pride, and my friends squealed over sweet tea on the porch. I wore my best sundress and tried not to look too eager when Caleb showed up with a simple gold band.

I thought it was a match made in heaven.

Until news of Lauren’s wedding reached Savannah.

It spread fast, faster than the river tide, and I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking as I listened to the gossip.

That day, Caleb drank himself into a stupor.

The scent of bourbon and regret clung to the walls. He slumped over his oak desk, half-lit by the desk lamp, the city’s glow flickering in the window.

I made him a bowl of chicken noodle soup and brought it to his study.

I set the steaming bowl on the blotter, careful not to spill. Mama’s recipe, the one she made whenever someone in the family caught a cold or a broken heart.

He was slumped over his desk, eyes red, calling my name: “Natalie.”

He sounded lost—smaller, somehow, than the man who filled up a room. The smell of whiskey and salt hung thick in the air.

I thought he needed me and hurried over.

But he picked up the paperweight and threw it to the floor.

The ceramic paperweight landed at the hem of my skirt and shattered into pieces.

I was so startled my heart skipped a beat.

The always gentle, refined Caleb now gritted his teeth: “Natalie, this is all your fault.”

“If you hadn’t taken a liking to me, if you weren’t the daughter of the County Commissioner—”

“How could I have been forced to marry you? How could I have just watched as Lauren married someone else?”

His tone was full of bitterness.

So that was it.

The happy marriage I thought I had was just my own fantasy.

His words hit harder than the whiskey. I wanted to shout back, to tell him I was hurting too, but all I could do was stand there, frozen.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t hold back my tears.

Caleb staggered to his feet, grabbed a pen, and hastily wrote a divorce letter.

He signed it, pressed his thumbprint, and threw that thin piece of paper at me.

He said, “I want to divorce you and bring Lauren back.”

He was really drunk—

He could say anything.

I swallowed my emotions and choked out, “You’re drunk. Wait until you’re sober to talk.”

I picked up the paper, turned, and left, closing the door behind me.

Tears streamed down my cheeks before I could stop them.

I went back to my own room alone.

The night wind was cold, but it couldn’t sober me up.

I curled up beneath the quilt Mama made for me, listening to the cicadas outside, feeling the empty ache of disappointment.

The next day,

Caleb sobered up and treated me with the same gentle courtesy as always.

He never mentioned Lauren again, nor did he speak of divorce.

He poured my coffee at breakfast, asked after my mother’s health, made polite conversation about the weather—like nothing had happened at all.

I pressed that paper to the bottom of my jewelry box, pretending nothing had happened.

Caleb’s beloved had already become someone else’s wife.

I thought I would spend my life with him.

I clung to the hope that things would change, that time could melt away old heartache. But hope can be a cruel companion.