The Palm Reader's Last Truth

Miranda's palms had been sweating for three hours straight, though the air-conditioning in the Cairo hotel ballroom kept everything at a crisp sixty-eight degrees. She adjusted her silk scarf, watching her husband Marcus work the room like the corporate CEO he was—climbing the pyramid, he always called it. Each step up meant someone else got stepped on.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," said Elena, the sharp-eyed woman from marketing who'd been eyeing Miranda all evening.

"Just thinking about how we got here," Miranda said, her gaze drifting to the younger woman in the corner—the one with the dog-eared portfolio and hungry eyes who'd been following Marcus all night. "Sometimes you bear things so long you forget how heavy they are."

The company had flown them all to Egypt for the merger announcement—Pyramid Solutions merging with Horus Corp. The symbolism wasn't lost on anyone. Ancient civilizations building monuments to ego, while modern ones built quarterly projections and stock options.

"He's going to do it," Elena said quietly. "Ask for the divorce. I've seen it before."

Miranda's laugh was dry. "He already did. Three weeks ago. I'm just here for the payout."

The jazz band started playing, and Marcus appeared at Miranda's elbow, smelling of whiskey and expensive cologne. "Ready for the announcement?"

"Ready to watch you climb higher?" she countered.

"It's not climbing, Mir. It's building." He gestured to the young woman with the portfolio. "She's sharp. Reminds me of you, twenty years ago."

That was the thing about Marcus—he always thought he was being generous when he was actually being cruel. Like the time he'd surprised her with a puppy after her mother died, as if a Golden Retriever could fix grief. The dog had run away within a month.

"Palm reading?" A veiled woman appeared beside them, her face lined with centuries. "Five dollars. I tell you your future."

Marcus laughed, but Miranda held out her hand. The woman traced the lines with surprising gentleness.

"You bear a great weight," the woman said. "But it is not yours to carry anymore."

Miranda looked at Marcus, then at the pyramid scheme of a marriage she'd been living in for two decades. The younger woman was waiting.

"You're right," Miranda said. "It's not."

She walked out of the ballroom, past the corporate pyramid, past the man who'd never really seen her, and into the Cairo night. Her palms were dry for the first time in years.