“Well, Claire,” he called loudly enough for both attorneys to hear, “enjoy flying economy.”
Vanessa laughed beside him.
“Don’t be cruel, babe. She probably doesn’t even know how to travel without you paying for everything.”
I stopped.
Then I slowly turned around.
Daniel looked successful in the shallow way a tailored suit and an expensive watch can make an insecure man seem important.
For twelve years, I had stood beside him at charity galas, investor dinners, corporate events, family celebrations, and fundraising parties.
Everywhere we went, he introduced me the same way.
“My wife, Claire.”
Never:
“My strategist.”
Never:
“The woman who rescued my company twice.”
Never:
“The person whose decisions kept me from bankruptcy.”
During the divorce, Daniel demanded almost everything he thought mattered.
The beach house.
The cars.
The artwork.
The Chicago apartment.
He assumed I had lost because I never fought him for any of it.
