After My Husband Wished for Divorce, I Became His Boss

Synopsis

I stood before the full-length mirror in our Beverly Hills master suite, carefully dabbing peach-toned concealer onto the purple-yellow bruises marking my inner forearms. The morning light filtering through the gauzy curtains was unforgiving, highlighting every imperfection I was desperate to hide. Two days ago, Rachel had called out for James in that fragile, trembling voice she'd perfected over the last year. I'd been in the hallway between them. When James came rushing to her rescue—as he always did—he'd shoved me aside with enough force to send me stumbling against the doorframe. The bruises were shaped exactly like his fingers. "It's not that bad," I whispered to my reflection, wincing as I blended the makeup over tender skin. "It could be worse." I'd become an expert at such rationalizations. An expert at hiding—bruises, tears, disappointment. An expert at pretending our marriage wasn't crumbling beneath the weight of Rachel's calculated helplessness. I capped the concealer and studied my handiwork. Perfect. No one would see the marks of my husband's indifference. Just as no one saw that each of his nine wishes—wishes I'd promised on our wedding day to grant throughout our marriage—had been spent not on us, but on Rachel. Move Rachel into our guest room. Move Rachel into the larger guest suite.