Wife Forgotten A Novella Novel – On our tenth anniversary. My husband is here. With another woman . . . a woman he promised I had nothing to worry about. And he’s looking at her as if she’s his whole world. My breath catches as betrayal ignites in my blood and I’m about to throw up everything I just ate. On shaking legs, I stand from my chair and begin to walk. I’m halfway to their table when I realize I have a glass of ice water in my hand, the perfect companion for an evening, post-meal walk. How lovely.
Stepping through the glass doors of Lush, I’m greeted by warmth and the smell of pure yumminess of brown butter and caramelized sugar. It brings a smile to my face, a face that for the past six months, has had very few reasons to smile. It’s the newest and hottest restaurant in the Seattle area. Ever since its opening five months ago, not a single day has gone by that I haven’t heard someone talk about how amazing the food is here. I’ve wanted to come since it opened, but with the high-profile case my husband, Mark, has been working on, we haven’t had the chance, which is why I thought this place would be perfect for our tenth anniversary.
I had to call three months in advance to guarantee I snagged a spot for tonight, a night that was supposed to be special; a night that was supposed to be a step in making things better between my husband, Mark, and me; a night that was going to create good memories when the past few months have been nothing but no memories. I even bought a spicy new number, a lacy red baby doll negligee, to re-ignite the passion between us, a passion I never thought would fizzle out in the first place. For almost ten years, that had been the case. But, I guess, things change when life gets too busy. Soon, I remind myself. Only a few more months and this case should finally be over. At least, that’s what Mark keeps telling me. I take a deep breath to shake out my disappointment. Tonight is our tenth anniversary. Yet, I’m celebrating alone. At least, I think I will be.
Mark hasn’t responded since sending me a brief text letting me know he’ll be working late. As a last-ditch effort, I pull my phone from my pocket to take one last look at our text exchange. This will be the last time I check tonight. If he can’t bother to respond to me, then why should I bother checking to see if he can grace me with a second of his precious time? My heart plummets. Like he’s done for the past six months, he’s left me on ignore. He’s not coming. After receiving his text, I tried calling the restaurant to see if they could change our reservation to a time Mark could join me (ha! What a joke), but they said they didn’t have a spot available for another two months. I was on the verge of canceling my reservation when I spontaneously thought, why should my night change because my husband can’t be bothered by me?
Just because he bailed, again, doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy my night. Right? Right. Our children had already been dropped off at Nana Grace’s house for the night, so why let a rare, free night go? That’d be silly, so I got dressed like I’d originally planned. Only, instead of wearing the simple black dress that Mark loves on me, I’m wearing my favorite dress, a satin gold, tea-length dress. I walk up to the hostess who greets me with a smile. A few men look in my direction and offer appreciative nods, which makes my confidence go up. It’s been a while since I’ve felt beautiful. “Welcome to Lush. Do you have a reservation?” the hostess asks. “Yes, I do. It’s under Jacobs for six o’clock,” I say. She looks at the screen while clicking the mouse a few times. “There you are. For two?” “Uh. No. Just me. The other party won’t be able to make it.” “No problem at all,” she says kindly, grabbing a menu beside her. Another woman walks up to her, and she hands the menu off. “Cindy will show you to your table. Enjoy.” “Thank you,” I say as I follow Cindy.
Laughter and chatter fill the room, making the vibe of this place warm and exciting. The modern, new-world decor makes this place feel like a hug, a great place to bring Friends and lovers. Mark would have liked it here. This is why he should be here. My jaw clenches, but I remind myself that I’m not allowing my husband to ruin this night, so I promptly stomp any thought of his absence down. He can’t care enough about our anniversary, so I’m not going to spend a single moment of this night caring about him. The fact of the matter is we shouldn’t even be in town for our tenth anniversary. We should be exploring Santorini, Greece, and eating the food there. But, like a lot of things these past few months, other things have taken precedence in my husband’s life. Cindy leads me to a table set for two. Looks like a flickering candle floating over a submerged red rose will be my dinner companion tonight.
“Your waiter will be with you momentarily,” Cindy says while pulling out my chair. I slide by her to take my seat, and say, “Thank you.” With a dancer’s spin, she walks away with so much grace it’s honestly impressive. I don’t think I’ve ever moved with that sort of grace. My ankle would probably give, and I’d fall flat on my face. A giggle slips as I picture myself doing just that. With a quick shake of my head, I bring myself back to the present and start looking over the menu to puzzle together my meal. Originally, I was going to eat enough to get a taste and feel of the place but not feel overly stuffed because I had tight lace to wear later, but since that plan flew out the window, I might as well eat all the food that my neglected heart desires . . . . . . and that’s exactly what I do. After two cheesy and buttery appetizers; a house salad with the dressing NOT on the side; one creamy pasta dish with a giant lobster tail; and the most fluffy and gooey pistachio souffle I’ve ever had the honor of putting in my mouth, I finish my meal without leaving a single bite. The food is spectacular.
My tummy is well-stuffed and exceptionally happy. It’s going to take at least a week for my body to recover from this meal. I haven’t splurged like this in quite some time. Being thirty-eight with three children, my metabolism doesn’t quite work like it used to. Plus, I’ve had no reason to go out to a place like this because my husband has been practically non-existent for months. Nope. Not thinking of him, I think and, once again, squash the thought of my husband down as I push the dessert plate away with a satisfied smile, wondering what I should do next. Maybe I’ll go to the theater? There have been a few movies that I wanted to see, but Mark had been too busy, so I’ve put them down to see at a later time. A movie is just what I need! My eyes lift from my table for the first time since they dropped off my appetizers, but my smile drops immediately. My stomach responds with an irritated gurgle when I see the woman walking out of the hallway that leads to the restroom.
Eliza Martin, the mid-twenties, auburn-haired, blue-eyed beauty who started working at my husband’s law firm eight months ago. The woman who’s also been working closely with my husband on the high-profile case with exceptionally high-profile clients. The woman who has also unknowingly caused more tension in our marriage these past few months than we’ve had throughout the entirety of our marriage. “Eliza’s just a colleague, Emi. I’m getting tired of you always nagging me about her. This case is stressful enough. I don’t need it coming from home either. You’re my wife. I love you. You have nothing to worry about.” I hate the feelings that coil inside me when I think of her. She’s spent more time with my husband these past six months than I have, and I hate it and I hate how it makes me feel about myself. I’ve never been an insecure woman, but these past few months with Mark’s neglect, I couldn’t help but spiral a little. This case is only temporary, but Mark and I are permanent. He’s never given me a reason not to trust him, so I need to keep these emotions under control. What is she doing here anyway? She should be working late alongside my husband.
My eyes follow her as she eases her way through the crowd. Even I have to admit, she’s stunning wearing an emerald-green silk blouse and black pencil skirt. Her already long legs look longer in her red-soled stilettos. She oozes sophistication and poise. I don’t own clothes like that. As a pediatric dentist, I don’t need pencil skirts or sky-high shoes. Rather, I have a closet filled with scrubs decked out in cartoon characters and Crocs in every color. Don’t get me wrong, I take care of myself by going to the gym and being careful with my diet, but I’m not in my twenties anymore and I’ve had three children: Charlie, Leona, and Millie. They’re my entire world and are so worth the sacrifice, but they undeniably changed my body. Unlike Eliza, who still has her youthful, tight, and childless body. I bet she doesn’t have stretch marks–like I do–that children love using as roadways for their Lego cars or cherrys that hang lower than her rib cage–like I do–because she spent a good chunk of her twenties being a prized milk cow. A sad sigh slowly escapes my lips.
Jealousy rages in my chest as I think about my own body and how different it is from hers. I should look away. I need to look away. Comparing myself to her is unhealthy, unnecessary, and completely unfair. She’s been nothing but kind to me and we’re in different stages of life. One day, she’ll have children and find herself in my position. I can’t let these insecure thoughts get the better of me. I need to trust my husband. He said she’s only a colleague and he’s given me no reason to question that. I’ll allow myself only a few more seconds to watch her, then I’m forcing myself to look away. A smile forms on Eliza’s face as she approaches her table. There’s a man with his back toward me, and for a moment, I feel relief. She’s not working late, spending more time with my husband, because she’s on a date. If she’s on a date, she can’t be with my husband.
I feel almost silly for doubting him. I’m about to look away when the man turns his head, revealing his chiseled jaw with a familiar brown mole a few inches above it, a brown mole I’d know anywhere because my lips have been pecking it for over twelve years. My breath catches as betrayal ignites in my blood and I’m about to throw up everything I just ate. He wouldn’t. My brain feels like it has shut down, not fully comprehending what’s happening. For several moments, I stare, frozen in my seat as I try to piece the scene together and make sure I’m not somehow projecting my insecurities into real life. My husband is here. On our tenth anniversary. With another woman a woman he promised I had nothing to worry about. And he’s looking at her as if she’s his whole world.