“Nice?”
He shook his head like I’d suggested wearing pajamas to the White House. “Amber, when you’re with me, you’re representing my success. Right now, you look completely forgettable.
The weight of that statement hit me like a physical blow.
I wasn’t his wife anymore. I was his business card. “Maybe I could change into something else,” I offered, hating myself for the pleading tone in my voice.
“Into what? Your entire wardrobe screams safe and boring. You dress like you’re trying to disappear instead of trying to impress.”
He grabbed his keys from the entry table.
The Porsche keys that cost more than some people make in a month. “You know what? I can’t deal with this right now.
I’m going to the office to prepare for tomorrow’s meetings.”
“But we were supposed to have dinner.”
“I’ll eat at the club. Figure out how to look like you actually belong in my world by tomorrow, Amber. Because right now you’re a liability I can’t afford.”
I stood there in my forgettable dress, alone in our perfect house, and wondered when exactly I’d become such a disappointment to the man who once couldn’t live without me. I spent the night alone, which was becoming a disturbing pattern in our marriage. Richard’s side of the bed remained untouched, cold, and perfectly made.
By morning, I’d convinced myself that stress was making him say things he didn’t mean. The wedding was important to him, and pressure made people act differently. I was wrong about that, too.
My phone buzzed at 7:00 a.m. with a text message that would change everything. “Won’t be attending the wedding.
Important client meeting came up. Handle the family questions yourself. R”
I read it three times, certain I was misunderstanding something.
He was skipping my brother’s wedding. After months of obsessing over the networking opportunities, after making me feel horrible about my appearance because he was so worried about impressions, he was just not coming. I called him immediately.
“This better be important. Amber, I’m about to go into a crucial meeting.”
“I told you something came up. The Henderson Group wants to discuss a major investment opportunity.
This could be the break I’ve been waiting for.”
“But… but you said this wedding was crucial for your career. You made me feel terrible about my dress because you were so worried about impressing people.”
“That was when I thought I’d have to bring you. Now I don’t have to worry about explanations or damage control.”
The line went dead before I could respond.
I sat on our king-sized bed, still in my silk pajamas, trying to process what had just happened. My husband had essentially told me I was such an embarrassment that he’d rather explain my absence than deal with my presence. For the first time in our five-year marriage, I wondered if Richard actually loved me or just loved having a wife who didn’t ask inconvenient questions.
I spent two hours getting ready, choosing a burgundy dress I’d bought but never worn because Richard had called it too attention-seeking. Looking at myself in the mirror, I realized something profound. I looked beautiful, more than beautiful.
I looked confident. When had I stopped trusting my own judgment about my own reflection? At the church, my mother immediately noticed Richard’s absence like a blood hound detecting scandal.
“Where’s your husband, sweetheart? Work emergency?”
I lied smoothly, the deception rolling off my tongue easier than I expected. She frowned, her perfectly penciled eyebrows drawing together.
“On your brother’s wedding day? What could be so important?”
“You know how demanding his job is, Mom. He would have been here if he could.”
But even as I said the words, I wasn’t sure I believed them anymore.
When had Richard’s excuses started sounding hollow? When had I started making excuses for his excuses? The ceremony was beautiful.
Michael looked handsome in his tuxedo. Jessica was radiant in her grandmother’s vintage lace, and their vows were the kind that made everyone cry happy tears. Everyone except me.
I spent the entire ceremony wondering why my husband’s promises felt like ancient history, while theirs felt like a beginning. During the reception, I fielded questions about Richard’s absence with practiced ease, but each explanation felt like a small betrayal of myself. I was covering for a man who thought I was beneath him, protecting the reputation of someone who couldn’t be bothered to protect mine.
The reception was held at the country club where Richard and I had our own wedding five years ago. Walking through those doors brought back memories of a day when I genuinely believed I was the luckiest woman alive. Richard had been attentive, charming, proud to introduce me to everyone.
He’d whispered sweet things in my ear during dinner and held my hand like he never wanted to let go. Now I couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at me like I was anything more than an inconvenience. I found my assigned table and was relieved to see Sarah, my college roommate, along with a few other friends I hadn’t talked to in months.
Adult friendships were hard to maintain when your husband considered your social life a waste of time. “You look absolutely stunning,” Sarah exclaimed, pulling me into a hug that felt like coming home. “That color is perfect on you.
Where’s Richard?”
“Business meeting,” I said, the lie getting smoother with practice on a Saturday. “That man works way too hard.”
I nodded and changed the subject. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was wondering where my husband was.
At least that’s what I thought until I overheard two women talking at the bar during cocktail hour. “Isn’t that Richard Coleman’s wife? She’s here alone again.
I heard they’ve been having problems. My husband works with him and Richard’s been saying some concerning things lately at the office.”
“What kind of things?”
“That he feels trapped in his marriage, that he married too young and didn’t know what he really wanted, that his wife doesn’t understand the level he’s trying to reach professionally.”
I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach with a sledgehammer. Richard had been discussing our marriage problems with his colleagues, telling them he felt trapped, making me sound like an anchor, dragging down his success.
I excused myself and went to the bathroom, where I locked myself in a stall and tried not to let my expensive mascara run down my cheeks. When had I become the kind of woman who hid in bathroom stalls at family celebration? When I finally composed myself and returned to the reception, my brother Michael intercepted me near the dessert table.
“Hey, there’s my beautiful sister having a good time.”
“The best,” I said, forcing a smile that felt like plastic surgery. “Everything is absolutely perfect, Michael. You and Jessica look so happy.”
“We are happy.
But are you okay? You seem, I don’t know, different somehow.”
“Just tired. It’s been a long week with all the wedding preparations.”
He studied my face with the protective intensity that only big brothers possess.
“Amber, if something’s wrong, you know you can talk to me, right? I know I’ve been distracted with wedding planning, but I’m still your brother. That comes first.”
For a moment, I almost broke down and told him everything about the constant criticism, the loneliness, the feeling that I was slowly disappearing in my own marriage, about overhearing those women discuss my husband’s complaints about being trapped with me.
But this was his wedding day, and I wasn’t going to ruin it with my problems. “I’m fine. Really.
Go dance with your gorgeous wife.”
He squeezed my shoulder and walked away. But I could see he wasn’t convinced. I spent the rest of the reception making small talk and pretending everything was wonderful while my marriage crumbled around me like a house of cards in a hurricane.
I left early, claiming a headache that wasn’t entirely false, and drove home to our empty mansion where Richard’s absence felt like a third person in every room. Sunday arrived with still no sign of Richard, and I spent the day moving through our house like a ghost haunting her own life. I cleaned rooms that were already spotless, organized closets that didn’t need organizing, and tried not to check my phone every 30 seconds for messages that never came. Continue reading…
