In the third year of my marriage to Charlotte, my uncle came home. He was, and perhaps always had been, the one that got away.
I saw the current that still flowed between them, saw the way Charlottes eyes clung to him when she thought no one was looking.
This time, I decided to let go.
The marriage between the Prescotts and her family was only ever on the table because my uncle, Sebastian, didn't want it. It fell to me.
I packed my bags, erased my presence from our home, and chose a bright, clear day to leave.
Charlotte called. "Benjamin, once I'm done showing your uncle around, I'll be home to celebrate your birthday."
I watched the white contrail of a jet score the blue sky and said softly, "Don't worry about it. I'm not really celebrating this year."
The Prescott family has a standing dinner every month. My wife, Charlotte, is a busy woman, and she rarely attended with me. When I showed up alone at the family estate, I was an easy target for their casual disdain. After years of the same remarks, you build a kind of immunity.
So when my Aunt Margaret started in again about my lack of ambition, about my inability to hold Charlottes interest, I simply let my mind drift, outlining the next chapter of my novel.
"Well, its one thing for you to be useless," she said, her voice cutting through my thoughts, "but thank God Sebastian is back today. He and Charlotte were always so close. From now on, we should just let him spend more time with her."
Let Sebastian do what with Charlotte? My focus snapped back to the dining room. I felt a surge of disbelief.
"Aunt Margaret, Charlotte is my wife. What are you trying to say?"
She set down her fork with an impatient clatter. "What do you think I mean? They were good together. If Sebastian hadn't been so stubborn about going abroad for his doctorate, you never would have had the chance to pick up the scraps."
"Charlotte is my wife," I repeated, my voice tight. "We've been married for three years."
I pushed myself up, gripping the edge of the heavy mahogany table. The sudden emotion brought on a wracking cough, a familiar betrayal by my own body.
Every eye at the table turned to me, their expressions dripping with contempt. I clenched my fists at my sides.
I've always been the invisible Prescott son. Frail and prone to illness since childhood, I spent more time in bed than out of it, easily overlooked. When my mother was alive, she watched over me, even from her own sickbed. But after she died, I became a ghost in my own home, trailing behind my cousins, taking whatever they didn't want. It wasn't until I started earning my own money as a writer that I found any semblance of peace.
Their scorn, their dismissal of meI could live with that. But Charlotte, my wife that was the one thing I couldn't concede. I couldn't just play deaf and dumb while they plotted to push the woman I loved into another man's arms.
Why in God's name should my uncle be the one to "spend time" with my wife?
"I've lost my appetite. Please, enjoy the rest of your meal. Excuse me."
I turned to leave.
"You stop right there! Who taught you to speak to your elders that way? Have you no manners?" My fathers voice boomed, his palm slamming the table.
"It would make sense if I didn't," I said, turning back to face him, my gaze unflinching. "After all, you never taught me any."
The standoff was broken by a voice I hadn't heard in three years.
"Benjamin, what's all the fuss? Don't ruin a perfectly good family dinner."
It was my uncle, Sebastian. He sounded the same as everhis words feigning concern while every syllable dripped with condescension, painting me as the petulant child. He hadn't been in the house for five minutes, knew nothing of the situation, and had already laid the blame at my feet.
I turned, an irritable retort on my lips, but it died when I saw who was standing beside him. A person who was supposed to be working late at her firm.
"Charlotte? What are you doing here?"

I hurried over to Charlotte, my feet carrying me before my mind caught up. By the time I reached her, the reason for her presence was painfully obvious.
Sebastian explained with a wide, charming smile. "Today's the family dinner, isn't it? I was worried I wouldn't make it in time from the airport, so I mentioned it to Charlotte. Next thing I know, she's insisting on picking me up herself."
I heard a quiet snicker from the dinner table.
Before the meal, my father had asked why Charlotte was absent again. Id told them she was swamped with work.
Yet one word from Sebastian had her racing across the city to the airport and then all the way out to the family estate.
The hierarchy was crystal clear.
I forced a smile, looking at Sebastian. "Uncle, if you needed a ride, you could have called a car service. You didn't have to bother Charlotte."
"We're old friends from school," Sebastian said, draping an arm around Charlotte's shoulders in a theatrically familiar gesture. "What's the big deal if she comes to get me? Right, Charlotte?"
Charlotte slipped off her scarf and coat with practiced ease and handed them to me. "Benjamin, don't overthink it. Let's just sit down and eat. Your uncle is finally back. It's a reunion for everyone."
A sudden sting filled my eyes. She had already turned away from me, finding a seat next to Sebastian. They sat shoulder to shoulder, their heads bent toward each other in conversation, looking for all the world like the high school sweethearts they once were. Anyone would say they were a perfect match.
After all these years, it was like no time had passed for them.
And me? After three years of marriage, was I just her convenient valet?
A bitter smile touched my lips. Leaving now would only cause a bigger scene. I retreated to my original seat, directly across from them.
Sebastian's presence lit up the room. He handled the relatives' questions with the effortless grace hed always possessed. For as long as I could remember, he was the center of attention, the golden child. I had once admired him, even tried to emulate him. Then, I grew to despise him.
And Charlotte she still watched him with that same unwavering focus.
My heart seized. I knew that look. It was the exact same way she used to watch him in high school. She was forever the salutatorian to his valedictorian. While Sebastian worked on problem sets, Charlotte would rest her chin on her desk and just stare at him, completely captivated.
It never surprised me that she fell for him. Sebastian was perfection on the surface. Before we were married, I had even wished them well.