I’m Amber and I’m 28 years old. My husband, Richard, just screamed at me for looking like a suburban housewife in front of his business associates. He said I was embarrassing him at my own brother’s wedding rehearsal tomorrow.
The man who promised to love me forever just told me I’m not good enough to be seen with him in public. 3 hours of getting ready, apparently wasted on someone who thinks I’m beneath him. Where are you watching from today?
We live in a mansion worth $2 million. Richard drives a BMW that costs more than most people’s houses. And I have a walk-in closet that could house a small family.
From the outside, we’re the American dream. From the inside… well, let’s just say money can’t buy you love, but it can apparently buy you a husband who thinks you’re his biggest disappointment. “Seriously, Amber?”
Richard’s voice echoed through our marble foyer as I descended the staircase.
“That dress screams desperate housewife, not successful businessman’s wife.”
I paused halfway down, clutching the banister. I’d spent three hours getting ready, choosing a navy cocktail dress that I thought was elegant and appropriate. Apparently, I was wrong again.
“What’s wrong with it?” I asked quietly, already knowing I wouldn’t like the answer. He laughed, but not the warm laugh I fell in love with five years ago. This was different.
Cold, calculated, like everything else about our marriage lately. “You look like you’re going to a PTA meeting, not networking with the most important investors in the state. Do you have any idea what tomorrow means for my career?”
Tomorrow, my brother Michael’s wedding.
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