The butler had sweat at his temples and quickly took the phone aside. “Do you want me to turn off this livestream room?”
He spoke in a low voice, worried I would break down again like before and hurt the baby.
My voice was calm. “No need.”
“Just go ahead and cut the cake.”
“Not… not wait for President Payne to come back?” the butler asked in a careful tone.
I shook my head. “No need.”
The people waiting to enjoy the scene went still.
Someone had intentionally placed the livestream in front of me, expecting me to fall apart, sobbing like all those times in the past.
But I did not.
I got up according to the plan, cut the cake, and blew out the candles.
Then the whispering stopped, hiding itself, speaking openly behind me.
“What’s wrong with Natalie Morrison? Why isn’t she crying?”
“Didn’t she always cry like the world was ending every time she caught him cheating?”
“Didn’t she catch Zion with that young model before? She got so mad, she risked the baby, cried for three days and nights until he bothered to come home.”
“Valentine’s Day was even worse, with that big stomach, she ran to the seaside crying and begging him to return.”