Tenth Anniversary, Getting Divorced

After graduation, Zane seamlessly took over the family business, inheriting a legacy of wealth and power. As for me, after marrying him, I was appointed as a receptionist at his company.

Despite my professional skills and qualifications, I was relegated to this entry-level position. Zane insisted it was necessary for me to "start from the bottom" to gain experience, citing concerns about gossip from employees and shareholders about favoritism.

At the time, I swallowed his explanation, believing that my dedication and hard work would eventually lead to a better role. So, for the sake of our relationship and his wishes, I agreed.

The initial excitement of working at the company soon wore off as I found myself stuck in the receptionist role for three long years. My skills, which could have easily qualified me for a more substantial position, seemed to be overlooked.

Every time I raised the issue of a transfer, Zane came up with new excuses. He claimed that business roles were exhausting and that we might soon start a family. He didn't want me burdened by work and preferred that I enjoy a comfortable life at home.

But the more I considered it, the more I realized it was all a facade. Zane was always careful to use condoms during our intimate moments and insisted he wasn't ready for children. It dawned on me that his promises were nothing but a smokescreen, part of a broader plan to keep me sidelined.

His true intentions became glaringly apparent when he consistently avoided acknowledging me as his wife in any public or professional setting. Meanwhile, Maeve—his childhood sweetheart who had returned from studying abroad—was swiftly promoted to his secretary. She was paraded around at every event, her presence often accompanied by affectionate gestures that made it clear to everyone at the company that she was the one truly cherished.

The night of the company's tenth-anniversary banquet was particularly telling. I hadn't been included in the guest list, a snub that reflected my status as a mere receptionist. It was only when Zane's mother called me in a panic, unable to reach Zane, that I went to the company to find him.

As I stepped into the venue, I was met with a scene that shattered me. Maeve stood before Zane, presenting him with a bouquet of red roses. They embraced warmly and the crowd, oblivious to the reality, cheered them on, chanting for a kiss. There I was, the legitimate wife, awkwardly standing at the entrance, feeling the sting of exclusion and betrayal. Despite being with him for eight years, my presence seemed inconsequential.

After a sleepless, tormented night, I found myself struggling to fall asleep the next morning. Just as I was finally drifting off, Zane's insistent knocking on the door yanked me back to reality. "Amy, where did you put my navy-blue tie?"

Frustration boiled over as I hurled a pillow at the door. "Where else could it be? It's in the rice cooker!"

Over the past eight years of our relationship and four years of marriage, I had meticulously managed every aspect of his daily life. Our home was a testament to my organizational skills, with his wardrobe arranged neatly and every piece of clothing in its rightful place. Yet, despite this, he continually relied on me to find his belongings—sometimes even his socks.

I used to think that without me, he would be utterly lost. But it became increasingly clear that he was merely accustomed to my constant support. In front of Maeve, Zane was considerate and attentive, even knowing the specific type of lingerie she preferred. It was a stark contrast to the way he treated me. Over the years, it became painfully obvious that in his eyes, I was nothing more than a glorified housekeeper.