Three years married, and his parents still didn't even know I existed.
Phil couldn't wait to give Winona Cooley a title. And I couldn't wait to watch him spin his own cocoon and trap himself inside it.
To keep up appearances, Phil volunteered to move out.
His phone chimed nonstop while he packed.
I caught a glimpse in the reflection of the glass: Winona's messages, explicit, a few private photos thrown in.
Phil practically bounced toward the door. He didn't even bother to say goodbye.
I watched him disappear down the hall, then called the secondhand dealer up to haul away the furniture.
After that, I canceled the bank card paying off his car loan.
Right after we got married, Phil had brought up wanting a car to get around in.
I knew he was broke, and I knew asking out loud would embarrass him.
So I just bought one and gave it to him on his birthday.
To keep him from getting suspicious, I even took out a loan to cover the payments.
But after he got that car, Phil never once gave me a ride.
He took his female coworkers out for joyrides, lent it to the guys so they could impress girls.
Everyone in the office had ridden shotgun in that car. Everyone but me.
The doorbell rang. The courier I'd booked had come for the pickup.
I slid the miscarriage report into an envelope and told him to deliver it that weekend, straight to the hotel where Phil was holding his wedding banquet.
I'd known about Phil's severe low sperm count since his pre-employment physical.
The real reason behind the miscarriage was him. His quality was poor.
The doctor's preliminary diagnosis: Phil would never have a child of his own. Not in this lifetime.
Three generations of Gilberts, every one of them an only son, and the line was about to die out.
I laughed until I cried. I smashed the $1.50 ceramic mugs he'd given me, shredded the couple's pajamas I'd worn for three years.
On my way out, I kicked over the little night-light in the living room.
Phil used to work late into the early hours, and every single time, I'd have soup simmering, waiting up for him in that living room.
Never again would I sit up all night by the stove, waiting for a man who didn't love me to come home.
I moved back into the mansion and had Chloe carry my files back to the CEO's office.
The next day at work, Phil was handing out wedding candy at his desk.
From all the way across the room, I could see the split skin on his lips and the bruising kiss marks blazing along his neck.
When he saw the executive elevator light up, he rushed over.
Chloe stepped in front of me and cut him off.
I turned my head away. I could feel Phil's gaze lingering on me, long.
Long enough that I thought he was about to recognize me, when he held out a wedding invitation and a packet of candy.
“Ms. Winfield, I'm getting married this weekend. I'd be honored if you'd come.”
I nudged Chloe. She caught it instantly and turned the question back on him.
“But I heard you were dating Agnes Winfield. How is it you're suddenly getting married?”
Phil shook his head frantically, terrified of being linked to me in any way.
“Agnes and I barely know each other. Please don't get the wrong idea.”
Chloe passed the invitation to me and pressed the close button.
“Fine. Ms. Winfield may stop by.”
I'd guessed Phil would distance himself from me. But hearing him deny it with my own ears still dropped me straight into ice.
The weekend came fast. I had Chloe drive me to the hotel where Phil's wedding was being held.
Phil stood at the entrance greeting guests, grinning so wide his mouth nearly split to his ears.
The moment he spotted me, he hurried over, all smiles, ushering me toward the VIP table and pouring out flattery.
Phil's parents sat with their backs straight, beaming as they boasted to the relatives.
“Our son married a tycoon's daughter, you know. Word is she brought him in on a deal. Once it wraps up, he'll clear five million.”
Every eye in the room lit up. They showered Phil and his parents with praise, begging them to help their own kids get a leg up too.
Phil was riding high, and he agreed to all of it without a second thought.
Chloe let out a contemptuous little scoff and leaned close to my ear, her voice dripping with mockery.
"He had a golden ticket right in his hands and threw it away, mistaking a glass bead for a pearl. Just wait. Once this wedding kicks off, he'll have plenty to cry about."
The bride appeared in an exquisite gown, one hand cradling her stomach as she leaned in to whisper something to Phil.
Then she gathered her skirts and walked away.
The stage lights flared to life. Phil stepped onto the red carpet, gripping the microphone as he welcomed the guests.
But he ran through every stalling line he could think of, and Winona still didn't appear.
Left with no choice, Phil pressed the remote in his hand and stumbled through some awkward filler.
"Now, please enjoy a short film of how the bride and I met."
The instant the big screen lit up, the entire room gasped as one.
