Chapter 2 #2
I wanted to scream that his job shouldn’t always be first, but I knew it was pointless to argue.
His priorities had never been a secret. It was part of what I had signed up for when I married him, but tonight was different.
Tonight, it wasn’t just about him missing a dinner or being late.
It was about being left alone in the most public of settings, feeling like I didn’t matter to him in the moment when it counted most, my small-town pride stung deeply by his perceived disregard for the simple value of being there for one another.
“I’m going to bed,” I finally said, my voice flat with exhaustion. “I’m tired of fighting with you about this.” I didn’t wait for him to respond. I walked toward the hallway that led to the master bedroom, feeling his gaze follow me, heavy and unwavering.
Behind me, I heard him sigh again, long and weary.
“I’m sorry if tonight hurt you,” he called after me, his voice softer this time.
But his apology felt too late, too hollow, and I wasn’t in the mood to accept it, especially not when his tone was devoid of sincerity, as if he were saying it merely to end the conflict rather than to fix what had broken between us tonight.
I closed the bedroom door softly behind me, shutting out the view of the city, the life we shared, and the man who would never fully understand just how much he had wounded me.
I kicked off my heels, not even bothering to line them up neatly like I normally did.
My fingers trembled slightly as I unhooked the clasp of the gown, letting the soft fabric pool at my feet before I stepped out of it, my movements robotic.
The dress felt heavy with the weight of the evening’s humiliation.
I left it lying crumpled on the floor, not caring how it would wrinkle.
Let him see the aftermath of what had happened.
Slipping into a silk robe that did nothing to warm the chill seeping into my bones, I paced in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed one wall of the bedroom, staring out at the city lights that glittered below.
Each pinpoint of light was like a tiny life in motion, a story unfolding.
I envied them for their anonymity. No one in those distant windows had to play a role on a stage, no one had to smile through the sting of being left alone and humiliated.
The penthouse felt cold and foreign tonight, the silence of the room suffocating.
I hugged my arms around my middle, trying to push away the knot in my stomach that had been tightening since the moment I stepped into that alcove.
The memory of Chris standing with Jessica flashed vividly in my mind: the way her hand curled around his arm, the smugness in her smile, how easily they seemed to exist in their own bubble, leaving me exposed on the stage like an unwanted prop.
It wasn’t just that he hadn’t been sitting at the table.
It was the intimacy of that moment, the ease with which he’d let her touch him, talk to him, while the woman he married was left standing in front of hundreds of strangers.
I shook my head, trying to shake off the image.
But it clung to me like the cold night air seeping through the glass.
Chris always talked about business, about deals, about the bigger picture, but in that moment, it didn’t feel like business.
It felt personal, and the fact that he refused to see it that way made the sting sharper, more unbearable.
The soft click of the bedroom door opening made my body tense.
I didn’t need to turn around to know it was Chris.
He didn’t say anything at first, and the silence stretched between us like a thin wire threatening to snap.
I felt his eyes on me, studying the curve of my shoulders beneath the silk robe, the tension in my posture.
“Don’t,” I said quietly, not looking at him. “Don’t come in here and try to fix this.” The words came out harsher than I intended, but I didn’t regret them. I didn’t want to hear another half-assed apology or justification. I wasn’t ready to be convinced that my hurt was misplaced.
Chris sighed behind me, the sound heavy in the stillness of the room. He walked further in but stopped a few feet away, his presence looming like a storm cloud that hadn’t yet broken. “You’re not being fair, Beth.”
I turned to face him then, my eyes burning with the frustration that had been simmering inside me all night. “Not being fair?” I repeated, incredulous. “You made me look like a fool tonight, Chris. In front of everyone. And you think I’m the one being unfair?”
He frowned, his brow furrowed in that familiar way he got when he thought I was overreacting. “It’s just a dinner,” he said dismissively. “You’re letting this get to you more than it should.”
I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips.
“Just a dinner? That’s how you see it? It wasn’t just a dinner.
Sure, I don’t actually care about the award.
It didn’t feel earned. But it mattered to the people in that room.
It mattered to the people who I have to impress each and every day to get them to accept me.
And you humiliated me in front of them. It’s as simple as that, but you either can’t see it or you don’t want to see it. ”
Chris ran a hand through his hair, his expression shifting to exasperation. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Beth. It was just an unfortunate mix-up in timing. I had to seize an opportunity.”
“And what about my opportunity?” My voice rose now, fueled by the injustice of it all.
“I was standing up there, accepting an award you funded, speaking about the foundation that bears your name, and you were nowhere to be found. You weren’t there for me and you were there for your own foundation. You left me stranded.”
“You weren’t stranded, Beth.” His tone was condescending, like I was being ridiculous. “You’re making it sound worse than it was.”