“Risk-free.”
That word echoed in my head as I drove home that afternoon, knowing I had exactly forty minutes before Travis returned from his racquetball game with Marcus. Once inside, I busied myself: I printed the statements for our joint accounts, flipped through his meticulously organized files, and took photos of everything as a precaution. The numbers swirled in my mind: deposits I didn’t recognize, inexplicable withdrawals, transfers to unknown accounts.
I had just closed the drawer when the doorbell rang. The sound made my heart pound.
Through the peephole stood a woman in a black suit, holding a garment bag, with an impeccable and professional smile.
“Mrs. Mitchell? I’m Vivien from Styled Excellence. Your mother-in-law arranged for me to help you plan your birthday party.”
Eleanor Mitchell’s gift had arrived.
When I opened the door, I discovered that Vivien wasn’t alone. An assistant followed her, pushing two clothing racks and a makeup case large enough to fill a cosmetics counter. They transformed my living room into a temporary showroom with surgical precision.
“Ms. Mitchell emphasized the importance of your presence for such an important evening,” Vivien said, scrutinizing me with a detached air. “She mentioned the presence of several distinguished guests.”
She surrounded me with a tape measure, reciting figures to her assistant who typed them into an iPad. The way she adjusted my posture, tugged at my sleeves, and examined my hair made me feel less like a person and more like an item being inventoried.
“Have you ever considered lip injections? They would improve the symmetry of your face. And perhaps a subtle treatment around the eyes—Dr. Morrison specializes in mature skin.”
Mature skin. I was thirty-four years old.
“We will also need to address the issue of underwear. The right structure can slim your figure and enhance these styles.”
She held up a dress that looked like it had been professionally designed rather than sewn. “With proper shaping, it would be exquisite.”
For two hours, they dressed and undressed me, commenting on my body as if I weren’t there: too soft in some places, too angular in others, uneven skin tone, unsightly hair without professional correction. When they left, promising to return with other solutions, I felt stripped of the fragile confidence I had begun to rebuild since accepting Rachel’s card.
I met Rachel in a café, and I still felt like a stranger. She watched me for half a second before ordering a large coffee… with extra sugar.
“Difficult day?” she asked.
“My mother-in-law hired a stylist to ‘get me ready’ for my birthday dinner.”
Rachel clenched her jaw. “Because you need to look your best for the important guests.”
“Seventeen of them.”
I spread the bank statements out on the table. “Travis organized my entire birthday dinner without telling me. I found the confirmation email on our shared calendar this morning.”
Rachel glanced at the guest list I had scribbled. Her finger stopped on a name.
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