My husband’s closest friend wagered that I’d break down in tears when they handed me divorce papers

Everyone looked so content so unaware. I moved among them like a hostess on autopilot refilling glasses, smiling with my teeth but not my eyes. Beneath my dress my legs trembled, not with fear but with anticipation.

My heart beat a steady rhythm. Tonight. Tonight.

Tonight. Brandon caught my eye once while slicing the turkey and winked. He had a look about him.

Overconfident, self-satisfied, the way he used to look before his sales pitches closed. I matched his smile with one of my own, warm and unreadable. Let him believe he’d won.

Best bird yet, his dad said chewing with gusto. Steph’s perfected the recipe, Brandon added, placing the platter on the table like a trophy. She’s had plenty of practice.

What is this, our seventh Christmas? Eighth, I corrected gently, sitting across from him. He raised his glass. Well, here’s to eight more.

Or however many we last. His voice held that cruel lilt again, the one he coded in humor to keep his jabs casual, deniable. Laughter rose around the table.

I chuckled too, brushing a nonexistent crumb from my napkin. As plates emptied and the buzz of wine settled into the room, I noticed Brandon’s best friend, Nate, whisper something in his ear. Nate was already tipsy, eyes glassy, smirk lopsided.

Brandon nodded and stood up, slowly tapping his glass with a butter knife. All right, he said, clearing his throat. Before dessert, I have a little something for my lovely wife.

I glanced at Beth, who gave me a smile of genuine delight, expecting maybe a necklace or a handwritten note. Brandon reached into his blazer, pulled out an envelope and walked over with the smugness of a man who believed he was delivering a grand finale. Merry Christmas, babe, he said, placing it in front of me.

A quiet chuckle escaped Nate. No one else laughed. The envelope was out of place, plain white, no bow, no card.

I looked at it for a moment before opening it calmly. The table hushed. My eyes scanned the first line.

Petition for dissolution of marriage. Already signed. Already filed.

He had even highlighted a section at the bottom like a schoolboy showing off his work. I looked up. His smile was wide.

Expectant. So I smiled back. Thank you, I said softly, almost sweetly.

Pause. A flicker of confusion passed across his face. Nate shifted uncomfortably beside him.

I reached into my clutch and pulled out a sleek silver pen. Clicked it. Signed the papers in one elegant stroke.

Dated it. Capped the pen and handed them back. Done.

I could feel Beth’s stare on me, wide-eyed. Brandon blinked, caught off guard. That’s it, he asked, voice too casual…