He once told me that my job was respectable but not particularly important.
“You don’t understand what it’s like to carry the future of an entire company on your shoulders,” he said.
I remember being hurt by those words.
But I told myself he was under pressure.
When he began working late with Sienna, I told myself he needed reliable assistance.
When he stopped inviting me to business dinners, I accepted his explanation that the conversations were too technical.
And when his mother, Patricia Collins, criticized my clothes, my family background, and my modest income, I swallowed the humiliation.
During one particularly unpleasant Sunday dinner, Patricia examined the inexpensive handbag I’d brought.
“Derek deserves a wife who can keep up with his success,” she remarked.
I looked at Derek.
He smiled awkwardly.
“Mom’s just traditional.”
That was all he said.
I should have paid more attention to the silence that followed.
