Page 3 of A Song for Another Woman

His smile doesn't move. “Just keep it light. This is a big night for him.”

For him. Again.

Before I can answer, the Silver Creek publicist appears at Duke’s shoulder with her headset wire tucked behind one ear. “If they win,” she says softly, “they’ll probably cut to you. Just look happy for him.”

I want to ask her what face she recommends for a woman watching her marriage get packaged as a promotional asset. Instead, I say, “Sure.”

Duke squeezes my shoulder. Not affection. Direction. Then he's gone, moving toward the aisle with his phone already at his ear.

I look down and realize I've twisted my wedding ring halfway around my finger. The diamond faces my palm now, hidden in my closed hand.

“Vocal Event of the Year,” the presenter announces, and my lungs stop behaving normally.

The nominees play across the screen in bright little bursts. There we are again: Cade and Melody under amber lights, singing into the same microphone. The audience cheers loudest for them.

A sealed envelope opens. A beat.

“And the CMA goes to…” I know before she says it. “…‘Wildfire,’ Cade Tyler and Melody Hunter!”

The arena erupts.

Cade rises from the row ahead and to the left where they moved him after the performance. Not beside me. Artist seating. Easier for cameras, and easier for the win.

Melody reaches him in the aisle, and he pulls her into his arms. It's not the stage hug. This one is worse because no one can call it choreography. Her face presses into his neck, and his hand spreads over the center of her back. The embrace goes on long enough for the crowd to notice, then long enough for them to love it.

My smile finds its place. My body understands before my heart does:hold still, Emmy. The camera is on you.

I clap.

Cade and Melody make their way to the podium with the band playing them up. She's crying by the time they reach the microphones. Cade’s face is flushed, open, and stunned. He looks younger than thirty-eight. He looks like the man who once came off a tiny stage in the Whippoorwill, grabbed me around the waist, and spun me because twelve people had sung his chorus back to him.

My throat tightens so hard I have to swallow twice.

Melody speaks first. She thanks the fans, country radio, and her team. She turns to Cade, her voice trembling. “And Cade,” she says, “thank you for trusting me with this song. For seeing me. For making me braver.”

The crowd sighs. Actually sighs.

Cade ducks his head, smiling at the floor. Then he steps to the mic. He thanks the CMAs, the fans, country radio, and Silver Creek. He thanks Duke by name with a laugh about never letting him sleep. He thanks the writers, though everyone knows he and Melody are the headline there. He thanks the band.

Then he turns to Melody, and something in his face changes.

“This song wouldn’t exist without you,” he tells her, his voice rough. “You walked into the room and brought the match. I’ve spent a long time trying to find that fire again, and you reminded me it was still there.”

The crowd cheers so loudly he has to stop.

I sit in the third row with my hands folded in my lap and feel every word enter me cleanly.You reminded me it was still there.

Melody covers her mouth. Cade wraps one arm around her shoulders and draws her against his side. Then, almost like an afterthought, his gaze flicks toward the audience.

“And, uh, my wife, Emmy,” he says. “Thank you for always supporting me.”

The camera swings. There's no time to prepare.

My face fills the jumbotron again. For one full beat, the arena watches me receive the smallest piece of my own husband’s gratitude.

My smile doesn't break. It changes, though. I feel it happen. A tiny tightening at the corner of my mouth. A stillness around my eyes. The kind of thing no one in this room should be able to read, but a camera loves pain. It knows where to look.

I see myself seeing it. Not Cade’s arm around Melody. Not the speech. Not the crowd roaring for a love story they think they discovered before I did. It's my own face above them all, huge, composed, and humiliated. A woman being watched while she learns her place.