Chapter 12 Moving On
1026 Words
In the official post, no explanation for the dissolution of Micah and Darya’s marriage was given.
No reference to the photo where Micah was caught napping with another woman.
Nor was Judy’s or Felicia’s name mentioned.
The public was, understandably, dissatisfied.
They left all kinds of scathing remarks under the post, shared their speculation on the reason for the divorce.
Some, who had time on their hands and nothing better to do, started digging into the alleged mistress’s identity.
Micah ignored the comments.
Zenith’s share price had stopped plunging.
Judy had stopped pestering him.
Darya did not reply to the post.
Micah monitored her account, checked it between meetings like an obsessed cyberstalker, but Darya had gone silent.
He scrolled through her past posts.
The first one was published three years ago:
‘Married the man of my dreams! Best day of my life! I’m Mrs Cavanaugh now :-)’
The next post was dated two months after that:
‘He brought me peonies! The prettiest thing! Look at the huge, fluffy blooms! So gorgeous! And so sweet! My birthday was last week, but still…Maybe he just got the dates mixed up.’
Micah saw the bouquet of pink, red and orange peonies in the photo, and remembered the occasion.
Someone was having a retirement party at the office that day.
There were so many flowers, and it seemed like such a waste to just throw them away.
A secretary had offered him the bouquet.
He took it home and left it on the credenza in the foyer.
Did Darya think he bought it for her?
He didn’t even know it was her birthday the week before.
Micah scrolled through the rest of the posts.
Almost every single one was about him, at least during the first year.
‘He went away on a two-week overseas business trip. Miss him terribly :-(’
‘Saw him on TV today! The finance channel. He looked so handsome. And serious. King of the business world. He was wearing the steel grey Armani single-breasted suit in virgin wool. I wonder if he knew I was the one who had it dry-cleaned :-)’
‘Feeling a little faint after donating blood…But he got me a bottle of multivitamin pills :- ) Hope he’ll come home tonight.’
‘Raining so heavily today. Hope he took an umbrella with him this morning.’
‘Made him ricotta strawberry French toast :- ) Almost burned my pinkie. Phew. Never knew even making toast could be such a challenge. Luckily, I didn’t burn down the kitchen. And my first try was a success! Going to knock on his door now.’
‘Check this out! I made apricot lemon clafoutis! From scratch! Not to brag, but my culinary skills have improved dramatically since I got married. On my way to his office now. Hoping to surprise him at work:- ) I wonder if his receptionist knows who I am. If she doesn’t, I’m going to introduce myself as Mrs Cavanaugh :-)’
…
Eventually, the posting frequency decreased.
The posts grew shorter.
The smiley faces disappeared.
Then she stopped posting altogether about six months ago.
Was that when she decided the marriage was not working out?
Micah tried to recall what happened half a year ago.
Was there a specific incident, or was it just the culmination of three years of neglect?
He accessed their chat history, which read more like a one-sided conversation.
He would request her presence at the hospital to give blood, followed by a money transfer.
She’d ask how his day was, if he’d eaten, what he wanted for dinner.
She wished him a safe trip whenever he travelled for business, sent him weather alerts even though he could just as easily find out for himself, reminded him to get enough rest.
Micah called Darya’s number again.
No reply.
He tried to send a message to her on her i********:, Twitter, f*******:, w******p.
No reply.
After slogging through a day of meetings, meetings and more meetings, Micah checked Darya’s social media accounts again.
They were deactivated.
Incredulous, he stared at the greyed-out profile page and the ‘No posts yet’ message.
She had truly moved on, shedding her past as Mrs Cavanaugh.
She really didn’t want to have anything more to do with him.
As that realisation sank in, Micah felt a twinge in his heart.
He didn’t love her, thought of her as an opportunist who coerced him into marriage.
So why would he feel unhappy that she’d left him?
Micah stuffed his phone into his pocket, decided to put it out of his mind.
If she had moved on, maybe he should, too.
***
A month later.
The annual Hagen Ball was held at the St. Louis IX, a former palatial residence of a prince.
At five pm, two hours before the event was due to start, paparazzi were camped out on the street outside the hotel’s main entrance, waiting for a peek at the rich and famous who had the privilege to be invited to the ball.
Reporters and gossip columnists busily snapped photos of top-ranking city politicians, showbiz legends, business moguls, and socialites.
No one could buy their way into one of the most exclusive and looked-forward-to events in the Hagen metropolis.
The number of guests was restricted to just 108 each year, not counting plus-ones.
To attend, one must get the green light from the organiser, who happened to be a close friend and business associate of Matthias’s.
Which was how Darya’s name got added to the list.
It had taken her considerable effort to persuade her father to hold off on hosting a grand banquet in her name—she’d rather spend the time studying up for her job at the company.
Matthias relented, for the moment (he had not completely given up on the idea of a banquet), but as a compromise, Darya had to show up for the Hagen Ball.
As her car made its way to the hotel, a custom Cadillac Escalade Platinum pulled up at the kerb and whipped the crowd of celeb-watchers into a frenzy.
Camera lights started flashing like crazy.
‘That’s Micah Cavanaugh!’
- Writer
