administrator
The laptop pinged, interrupting the movie we were watching. Oliver had just gone to the bathroom and left his laptop open on the coffee table.
I glanced at the screen, and the subject line instantly caught my eye: “Dear Mr. Oliver,
We are happy to announce that the New Year party is coming up! Dress code: White Party. You may bring your plus-one (your wife). Address…”
His company never allowed plus-ones. Never. I’d heard him complain about it countless times. And yet – there it was, clearly written: you may bring your wife.
When Oliver came back, I tried to stay calm, though curiosity was burning inside me.
- “Your office is throwing a New Year’s party?” I asked casually.
– “Oh, yeah,” he replied. “Nothing big. Just the usual end-of-year stuff.” – “Can I come?”
— “No, they don’t allow guests. It’s a work-only event.”
“But the email said—”
— “They don’t, Jen. Trust me.”
That was the first time something felt truly off. Oliver was always
working late, always traveling, and I had grown used to his absences. I trusted him – because that’s what a wife does. But this time,
something didn’t feel right.
New Year’s Eve came. I stood in front of the mirror adjusting my white outfit, my mind racing with questions. Why didn’t he want me there? Was he ashamed of me? Was he hiding something?
— “Happy New Year, Jen!” he said, grabbing his coat and kissing my cheek.
— “Happy New Year,” I replied softly.
As soon as the door clicked shut, I grabbed my purse and followed him.
When I arrived at the venue, I was nervous, but determined.
- “Your name, please?” the receptionist asked politely.
— “Jennifer. I’m Oliver’s wife.”
He hesitated, then gave a confused smile.
– “There must be a mistake… Mr. Oliver already checked in, with his wife.”
“They arrived about 30 minutes ago. They always come together – I’ve seen them several times.”
I turned my head and looked across the room.
There he was. Oliver. Dressed in his crisp white suit, laughing with a woman who had her arm wrapped around his shoulder. She had long dark hair and a confident presence – like she belonged there.
- “Ma’am?” the receptionist asked gently.
- “No need to check. I see him.”
I walked away
from the desk, the party, and from Oliver.
I didn’t know exactly what I was going to do next… but one thing was certain: Oliver would regret it.
The next morning, as I poured my coffee, the phone rang.
- “Is this Mrs. Oliver?”
- “Yes.”
“This is Mercy Hospital. Your husband was in a car accident early this morning. He’s stable, but we need you to come in immediately.” — “He has a concussion and a broken arm. There are some
complications we’ll explain when you arrive.”
At the hospital, a doctor approached me.
— “Jennifer? Please, come with me. He’s stable, but there’s something urgent we need to discuss.”
He explained that Oliver had several fractures in his arm, and that
without surgery, he might suffer long-term damage. But there was a problem.
“His insurance policy lapsed last month. As his wife, you’re the only one who can authorize the procedure · and arrange payment.” I entered Oliver’s room. His face was pale, his head wrapped in a bandage, his arm in a sling. He looked weaker than I’d ever seen him.
— “Jen…” he whispered. “Please. Just listen. It’s not what you think.” “You lied to me,” I said coldly. “I saw you with her. You brought her to the party, didn’t you?”
“The doctor says you need surgery. But your insurance has expired. That sounds like something your real wife should take care of.”
Part of me wanted to cry. To help. To feel sorry for him. But then I remembered every time I had trusted him… and every time I found out it was a lie.
– “No, Oliver,” I said, my voice steady. “You made your choices. Now you live with them.”
For the first time in years, I realized I didn’t need to clean up his messes anymore.
A few days later, the hospital called again ·
It was Oliver.
but it wasn’t the doctor.
— “Jen… please,” he begged, his voice barely audible. “She didn’t come. I’m alone here. I need you.”
I hung up. And blocked his number.
Over the following weeks, I learned from mutual friends that his career was falling apart. Word of the affair had spread. The woman from the
party vanished. And his charm didn’t fool anyone anymore.
But me? I didn’t feel sorry.
I felt free.
For years, I had been the loyal wife.
Now, Jennifer was finally taking control of her own life.
