October, The Odd Ones

The house was already overflowing by the time we pulled up, our footsteps crunching over a carpet of frost on the stone path. Golden light poured from the towering windows like honey, pooling across the lawn, gilding the frozen hedges. From inside, laughter spilled out—muffled, melodic, like a song I used to know by heart but couldn't quite remember. Thomas and I stood at the threshold longer than we should have, silence thick between us, our breath misting in the cold. Then he reached for the handle and opened the door.

It was like stepping into a snow globe—too perfect, too still beneath the motion. Everything glowed: candles flickered in crystal holders, string lights coiled like vines around the white columns, and soft jazz danced just below the surface of the hum of voices. Jeanine, Thomas' mother,  had curated every detail with her usual precision, from the hors d'oeuvres on polished silver trays to the pine-scented garlands draped over the mantel. But beauty can be a kind of trap, too. Beneath the shimmer, something colder slithered through the air—tight and unseen, like piano wire pulled taut.

James, his father, stood at the center of it all like a monarch holding court, his glass raised high, his laughter louder than it needed to be. The scotch had already painted his cheeks the color of old brick, and he was performing now—flashing teeth, cutting jokes, casting shadows with charm that bruised as it passed. He had that way about him. The kind of charisma that fills the room until there's no room left for anyone else.

Someone tossed Jeanine a compliment—her dress maybe, or her hair. I didn't catch it. But James did. He turned to her with that smirk I've always hated and boomed, "Oh, she scrubs up alright when she puts her mind to it. I always say she's like an old car—takes a while to get going, but once she's running, you remember why you married her."

Laughter followed. Polite, brittle. The kind of laughter that tries to smooth over discomfort and fails. Jeanine smiled, because she had to. Not the kind of smile that reaches the eyes—this one was small, controlled, a mask she'd worn too many times to misplace now.

After a while, she came.

Laura swept into the room like a gust of perfume and noise—head high, lips glossy, smile gleaming like a weapon. She didn't hesitate, didn't pause to greet anyone else. Her eyes locked on Thomas like he was the only light in the room, and she made a beeline straight for him.

"Tommy!" she trilled, wrapping him in an embrace before anyone could think to stop her. Her voice was syrupy sweet, thick with intention. She kissed his cheek—delicate, rehearsed, calculated—and then pulled back just enough to smile up at him like he was a miracle she'd just stumbled upon.

Tommy?

"How are you doing?"

Thomas stepped back, polite, his expression unreadable. I watched his hand hover near her arm, unsure whether to welcome or deflect. He chose nothing.

Then Laura turned to me, all sunshine and sharp edges.

"October," she said with a practiced brightness. "You look so cozy. I love how you're not afraid to be comfortable. It's very... grounded."

Before I could reply, she was already turning back to Thomas, like I was an afterthought, a prop in the background of her scene.

"Your husband," she breathed, resting a hand lightly on his forearm, "has been so kind to me lately. Really. He made me feel like I belong—like I'm part of the family already." She laughed, low and intimate, like they shared a secret. 

She turned back to me then, all sparkle and false sincerity. "You're so lucky, October. He really is something special. The kind of man who just... understands women."

I felt the floor shift. The room around me blurred, softened. Everything she said was wrapped in ribbons, but the message underneath was sharp and unmistakable. I stared at her, heart pounding in my throat, my mouth dry with the effort of staying still.

She gave a final smile—gracious, victorious—and brushed a hand over her sleek hair. "Anyway," she said, as if she hadn't just set fire to the air between us, "I'll let you two mingle. Just had to say hello."

And then she was gone. Just like that. Dissolving into the party, into laughter and champagne, leaving behind the scent of roses and the echo of something cruelly unfinished.

Thomas shifted beside me. His hand came up like he might touch my arm, but it hovered there, uncertain.

"I... didn't know she was going to say that," he mumbled, eyes darting after Laura, not me. "It wasn't meant to sound...so odd.." He trailed off,

Odd, I wouldn't choose that word.. but I said nothing.

A little later, the band began to play—a slow, honeyed swing number, the kind of tune that feels like a memory you can't quite place. It floated through the air like smoke, curling into the corners of the room, softening the edges of everything. People began to drift toward the dance floor, pulled by the music, the warmth, the illusion.

And then—like clockwork—Laura reappeared.

She was already smiling when she reached him. Like she'd been waiting for her cue, rehearsing her line.

"Dance with me?" she asked Thomas, her voice a practiced mix of teasing and sweetness. "I promise I won't step on your feet."

He froze. Just for a moment. His eyes found mine across the room—uncertain, flickering with something that looked like guilt but not enough of it. He hesitated, but only briefly.

"Go on!" James shouted from his spot by the bar, sloshing scotch over the rim of his glass. "You're young! Have some damn fun. I'll also be dancing with my friend tonight."

And just like that, he pulled Linny into his arms—Linny, the so-called family friend, the one everyone knew had once shared more than meals with him, everyone knew she was never "just a friend", but of course no one said anything.. The crowd laughed. Not because it was funny, but because that's what you do in rooms like this—pretend, applaud, drink.

Thomas looked at me again, eyes pleading now, soft and weak, as if asking for permission. Or forgiveness. Maybe both. Then looking at his father, he let Laura take his hand and lead him to the floor.

I stayed frozen in place, beside Jeanine, our bodies stiff in the stillness while the music played on and our husbands danced with women who weren't supposed to matter. Women who smiled too easily. Touched too boldly. Claimed what wasn't theirs with a kind of casual confidence that only comes from being welcomed, or at least never told no.

Jeanine didn't say a word at first. But her hand tightened around the stem of her wine glass, knuckles white, a vein twitching visibly at her temple.

Finally, through gritted teeth, she whispered, "Men right? They just need attention."

Her voice cracked on that last word, the weight of it hit me in the chest like a stone.

She nodded once. Slow. Heavy. "Smile through it, sweetheart," she said, raising her glass with the weariness of a thousand nights just like this one. 

But I couldn't.

I couldn't smile through this. I couldn't pretend that watching my husband sway with another woman, even he looked tense, while the rest of the room clapped. When Thomas finally came back, his face was flushed, his eyes uncertain. He looked like he knew. Like he'd felt it too—that subtle but unmistakable shift. The widening crack that no amount of laughter or music could cover.

"Want to dance?" he asked, his voice low, almost boyish in its caution.

I stared at him, my throat tight, my heart thrumming against the cage of my ribs.

"I'm not interested," I said. My voice didn't waver. It was the only solid thing I had left.

And I turned, walking away without another word, my heels clicking against the polished floor. I pushed through the doors to the balcony and let the cold night air wrap around me. I needed it—something real, something that didn't lie to me with warmth or smiles or swing music.

Behind me, the laughter swelled. The music played on.

But I stood outside alone, breathing in the frost-touched wind like it was the only honest thing left in the world.

The door to the balcony clicked shut behind me, and I exhaled, thinking—hoping—I'd finally found a corner of the night untouched by artifice. But she was already there.

Laura stood near the railing, her silhouette framed by moonlight, one hand tucked casually into the pocket of her sleek dress, the other holding a half-empty flute of champagne. She turned when she heard me, her face lighting up like this was a chance encounter between old friends.

"I have to say," she began, her voice warm with false candor, "this job... it's been such a blessing. I've never felt more at home. Everyone's just so welcoming—it's like I finally found a family."

She laughed softly, like it touched her deeply.

"And I'm just so excited for the trip," she added, her eyes flicking over me, gauging my reaction.

I blinked. "What trip?"

Laura's smile faltered—just a flicker—but she recovered quickly, letting out a light, incredulous laugh. "Oh... wow. You didn't know?" She tilted her head. "Next week. Portugal. The annual family vacation? Thomas, James, some family and friends and me, this year." She drew out that last word like a flourish. "We're all going."

Her words hit like a slap I hadn't seen coming. I tried to keep my voice steady. "No, our family trip is usually in the summer. The beach house. Not... not now."

Laura took a slow sip of her champagne, then gave me a look that was almost pitying, like she was gently correcting a child. "Well, I mentioned to Thomas that my dream vacation has always been Portugal," she said. "He said he knew the perfect place—said he'd been there before and it was magical." She paused, smiling wider now. "I had no idea it was where he proposed to you. Isn't that sweet?"

My chest tightened. I could hear the laughter from inside the house, distant and hollow.

Laura stepped closer, lowering her voice just enough to make it feel private. Intimate. Cruel.

"Usually you go on family vacation, I know," she said, her tone gentle, almost apologetic. " This year Tommy said that with the baby and everything... it just made sense I go instead. Don't worry, though."

She reached out and gave my arm a delicate pat. Like I was fragile. Like I needed reassurance.

"I'll keep an eye on him for you."

And just like that, she walked past me, her heels soft against the stone, her perfume trailing behind like smoke from a fire I hadn't noticed until it was already consuming everything.

And I stood there, hollow, the memory of my engagement shattered under the weight of her voice. The sea breeze didn't feel romantic anymore. It felt like it was trying to push me off the edge. I kept replaying it in my mind, over and over, clinging to the disbelief like a life raft—

No... no, it can't be. He wouldn't.
He wouldn't do that to me. He couldn't.

And then came the sound.

The soft, unmistakable chime of glass clinking against glass—a signal. A summoning.

Conversation quieted, laughter dimmed, and all eyes turned toward the center of the room, where James stood proudly with a drink in hand, his cheeks flushed and his smile wide enough to split the evening in half.

He raised his glass, commanding the attention like a man who'd never had to earn it.

"Alright, alright. A toast," he boomed. "First off—thank you all for coming. What's life without family and old friends, huh? A house is just a house without laughter, love... and good scotch."

A few polite chuckles.

"And speaking of family," he said, drawing the word out like a magician before a reveal, "I want to give a little shoutout to someone who's become like family real fast."

He turned with exaggerated fondness toward Laura, who stood poised and gleaming under the lights like she'd rehearsed her pose in the mirror.

"Laura, you know, Thomas' workwife, has been an incredible asset—not just to the company—but to this family. She brings grace, brilliance, and just the right amount of fire." He winked. "Thomas is lucky to work beside her every day, we all are."

 I froze. Laura gave a soft, humbled laugh, pressing her hand to her chest as though this was all so unexpected, so touching. Thomas... looked like he might be sick. But he said nothing.

"And now, the real news," James continued. "It's almost time for our annual family trip. This year, we're switching things up. Portugal."

He paused to let the word land. "Beautiful coastline. Quiet. Romantic. I believe it's the place where our very own Thomas got down on one knee." He nudged Thomas's shoulder with his elbow. "Right, son?"

The room laughed again. Louder this time. Easier. I felt the world go still around me.

James turned toward me then, his smile sharp and his voice dripping with mock sympathy.

"October, sweetheart. We know you've got your hands full these days. All that hard work raising the kids—managing snacks, cartoons, nap time. Not easy..."

A few more laughs—some unsure, some indulgent. My mouth went dry.

" So, this year... It'll be us, of course—Thomas and Laura. Our golden duo. And me and Linny and other friends."

That name—Linny—sent a wave of tension through the room. "She's had a hard year," James added, like that explained everything. "And she's earned a little joy. She works hard, just like Laura. These women deserve to unwind. Strong, capable women,... you know..."

He looked right at me and Jeanine as he said it. My heart stumbled.

A slow, icy laugh slid through the crowd. Jeanine went stiff beside me, her jaw clenched. I didn't even feel the glass in my hand anymore.

"But don't worry, October," James said, with a faux-reassuring smile. "If you need help with the little ones, Jeanine's staying back this year. She can give you a hand."

He paused—tilting his head in mock sincerity.

"After all, raising kids is a full-time job. That's what they say, right? Though, between naptime and Netflix, I'm sure you'll both manage just fine."

Laughter again. Louder this time. Crisper. Meaner.

James lifted his glass again. "But Hey, we'll toast you from the cliffs."

The laughter this time felt cruel. Louder. Clearer. Like the sound of glass shattering underwater.

I turned to Thomas.

His jaw was tight, his hands clenched at his sides. He looked everywhere but at me.

But he didn't say a word.

He didn't correct James. Didn't say this was our place. That I was his wife. That he'd proposed there with trembling hands and whispered promises. That I had named the waves, the cliffs, the light. That I was the one who built a life beside him, not her. That I am his family. The wife, the mother, the heartbeat of the life we made together. The one who stayed, who carried, who kept us whole.

He just stood there. Silent.

And in that silence, I disappeared.

Laura leaned in then, placing her hand gently on his arm like she belonged there. Her voice was soft but perfectly pitched.

"we are going to have so much fun, Tommy"

The room buzzed with conversation again, the toast absorbed into the noise. But I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe.

Thomas ignored her and reached for my wrist, gently, like he still had the right to touch me.

"Please, October, let me explain," he whispered. "It's not what it looks like—"

"Shut up," I said again. My voice was low but final this time, steel wrapped in velvet.

He froze. Words died in his throat. And I didn't wait to see what face he made next—guilty, ashamed, pleading. I didn't care.

I turned and walked out of that glittering, poisonous room—heels clicking on polished floors, breath catching somewhere between fury and freedom.

The cold hit me the moment I stepped outside. A different kind of silence surrounded me now—cleaner, sharper.

And then I saw her.

Jeanine stood near the hedges, away from the lights, shoulders hunched, arms folded tight over her sequined dress. Her face was turned just enough that I could see the tears tracing down her cheek, glittering like the frost on the leaves.

She didn't make a sound.

I just stood beside her.

I had never seen her like this. Jeanine, who always smiled just enough. Jeanine, who laughed politely at James' worst jokes, who wore her lipstick like armor. Jeanine, who always seemed fine.

Tonight, she wasn't fine. She wasn't anything close to it. She was crying—quietly, openly, without shame or apology. 

And I knew that this was a turning point for her too. A line drawn. A moment to remember long after everyone else forgot

I didn't speak her name. I didn't meet her eyes. 

"It's time Jeanine," I said, my voice barely louder than the wind.

She just kept staring out into the cold, letting her tears fall without wiping them away.

That was enough.

I walked to my car—grateful, for once, that I'd driven myself. Grateful I didn't have to sit in the passenger seat next to a man who'd watched me drown and called it love.

As I slid into the driver's seat, I saw him trying to come after me. I didn't care but I didn't feel numb. I wasn't sad.

Not anymore.

Whatever ache had once hollowed me out was gone now—burned away, leaving only the steel underneath.

I didn't cry. I didn't shake. 

And as I drove away, the house shrinking behind me like a stage set gone dim, I caught one last glimpse of him standing there in the doorway. Small. Still. Useless.

I watched him vanish in the rearview mirror—first the man, then the house, then the whole damn world I had twisted myself into just to be chosen.

But I wasn't heartbroken anymore. I was officially done.

And as the road opened up in front of me, as the cold dark wrapped around the silence in the car, a single thought rose steady and certain in my chest: I will make you pay for this Thomas.

Literally. 

And then otherwise.

.........

Jeanine (POV)

October was right.

I saw it in her eyes—the same ache I stopped naming years ago.

But tonight... tonight was different.

He was never this blatant before. Never made a toast to his mistress with his wife standing right there.

Not in front of the whole family. Not with that smile.

October was right. It's time.

It's time to end it all.