The Red Wine Reckoning
“…her and Charles, your business partner, at the summer house.”
The silence that fell over the dining room was so absolute, it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from the air. The only sound was the steady drip, drip, drip of my ruined dress onto Lorraine’s imported Persian rug.
Lorraine’s smirk vanished instantly. The color drained from her face, leaving her perfectly applied rouge looking garish against her suddenly chalky skin. “She—she’s lying!” Lorraine stammered, her voice pitching into a shrill, panicked octave. “David, your wife is having a psychotic break! Make her sit down!”
I didn’t sit down. Instead, I calmly reached into my clutch and pulled out my phone. I unlocked the screen, the bright glow reflecting in my father-in-law, Richard’s, wide eyes.
“I’ve kept my mouth shut for five years, Lorraine,” I said, my voice steady and icy. “I smiled when you critiqued my cooking. I stayed quiet when you told David he could have done better. I even bit my tongue when you ‘forgot’ to invite me to the family retreat. But you just couldn’t let me eat my dry chicken in peace, could you?”
“Emma, what are you doing?” David asked, standing up. He looked between his mother and me, bewildered, but instinctively stepped closer to my side.
“Just showing your father the scenic route I decided to take since the high road got so exhausting,” I replied.
I turned the screen toward Richard and tapped play. The volume was all the way up.
It wasn’t a long video—just ten seconds of Lorraine, giggling like a schoolgirl on the familiar white linen sofas of the family’s beach house, pouring champagne for a man who was very clearly not her husband. Then came the audio. Lorraine’s unmistakable voice cooing, “Oh, Charles… Richard doesn’t even know what year it is half the time, let alone how to treat a woman like this.”
Richard sat frozen. The vein in his temple began to pulse rhythmically.
“Arthur, it’s a deep fake!” Lorraine shrieked, knocking over her water glass as she scrambled out of her chair, lunging toward my phone. “It’s AI! She’s trying to frame me!”
David caught her wrist before she could snatch the device from my hand. He looked at his mother, a profound disgust washing over his features. “Mom,” he said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. “Charles’s reflection is in the mirror behind you. And you’re wearing the sapphire necklace Dad gave you for your anniversary.”
Lorraine crumbled. She fell back into her chair, burying her face in her hands and sobbing hysterically, waiting for someone to comfort her. No one moved.
Richard slowly stood up, placed his cloth napkin meticulously on the table, and looked at me. There was a mix of absolute devastation and quiet gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you for dinner, Emma,” he said, his voice hoarse. “David, please take your wife home. I have a phone call to make to my lawyer. And my business partner.”
As Richard walked out of the room, David took my hand. We didn’t look back at Lorraine as she wailed amidst the ruined dinner and spilled wine. The stain on my dress was already setting, but as the cool night air hit my face outside, I had never felt cleaner.
