His Trophy Wife, Her Secret Life

the hundr

g, kissed my cheek with the air of someone comp

tion. She would disappear for days, sometimes weeks, to be with her childho

eturned, a guilt of

ition signed copy of a book I once mentioned I liked. The fiftieth, a small, unas

with a silent, screaming history of my wife' s absence and my own complicity. They w

th time. And I was no

nis bracelet, her movements fluid and practiced. She was always beautiful, always poised, a creatu

, her voice light, not looking at me. "It's a make-or-break mo

ld have asked, "What about us, Sophia?" He might have pleaded, a little.

sn't him

hing. I ju

turned, a slight frown on her perfe

m, even. It surprised me a littl

you have anyt

antique wood. They had been meant to placate me, to buy my silence. But over five years, they

me very, very weal

destal, sat her latest offering, number ninety-nine. It was a Ming dynasty vase, a stunnin

. It was heavy

ve one, isn't it?" I aske

ressive way of acknowledging the transaction. "It is. A good in

se," I r

my study. I placed it carefully on the large ma

er curiosity piqued.

pulled out the chair for

said softly. "I nee

pre-nuptial agreement?" She laughed, a short, brittle sou

ank mask. "My lawyer advised it. Given the va

up the pen I had laid out. Her eyes scanned the first page, a dense block of legalese designed to be skim

th a flourish at the b

the fine print

guilt, maybe it was just a performance of it. She reached out and touched my

ack, I promise, things will be different. I'll take you t

that promise like a lifeline. He w

st n

," I

r heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

to the silence of the massive hous

e title she had so

DISSOLUTION

t next to the lawyer' s notarized statement confirming that all ninety-nine "gi

ake me to the Met

ime she got back, I' d be gone. And