The Wife He Took for Granted

Seven years of marriage turned me into a joke.

My husband Christopher would drive across half of New York in a blizzard just to bring my sister Amanda a cup of mulled wine. My own son Ryan would point at my face and scream, "Aunt Amanda is a hundred times prettier than you! She should be my mom!"

In this house, the three of them were family. I was just the unpaid help.

I thought if I loved them enough, I could win their hearts. Until the day Ryan stomped on my architectural model—six months of work, my ticket back to the career I'd sacrificed. Christopher just shrugged. "Amanda wanted it as a toy for Ryan. Do you really have to make such a big deal out of it?"

Something inside me went quiet.

I signed the papers without a word. Left my ring on the table. Walked into the winter night and never looked back.

Jennifer's POV

"Jennifer, do you HAVE to ruin this for everyone?"

Christopher's voice cut across the living room. He stood there with his arms crossed, looking at me like I was dirt on his shoe.

Ryan sat on the couch glued to his new tablet, didn't even look up. Next to him was Amanda—my twin sister—draped in beige cashmere, red-rimmed eyes, playing the victim.

We'd been discussing Thanksgiving plans.

"I'm just saying—we've done Aspen three years in a row." I tried to keep my voice steady, though my knuckles had gone white around my coffee mug. "Ryan's been dying to see the ocean in Florida. And with my knee, the old injury—skiing's really tough."

"But Amanda wants to see snow." Christopher cut me off, moving behind her, his hand dropping onto her shoulder. "Her gallery show's falling apart. She needs the mountains for inspiration. You're her older sister, Jennifer. Can't you just be understanding for once?"

Understanding.

I'd been bending over backwards for three years.

When Amanda moved in, she claimed the breakup had triggered severe depression. She couldn't handle cooking smells, so I fired our chef and started making French cuisine myself every night. She needed natural light to "create," so I gave up my study for her art studio.

And what did all that get me?

"Mom, you're so SELFISH." Ryan finally looked up, those blue eyes—Christopher's eyes—cold as ice. "Aunt Amanda's been through hell. Why do you always pick on her? You know what? I don't want Florida anymore. I want Aspen with Aunt Amanda. If you don't want to come, fine—stay home alone."

Something broke inside me.

This was the child I'd carried for nine months. The baby I'd labored a full day and night to bring into the world. I'd turned down Rem Koolhaas's firm for him, traded a promising architecture career for a life of stoves and laundry.

And now he called me selfish.

For his aunt. The aunt who'd taken over his room.

Right on cue, tears rolled down Amanda's cheeks. She grabbed Christopher's sleeve, voice breaking: "I'm sorry, Christopher. This is my fault. I shouldn't have brought up Aspen." She paused, sniffling. "Sister's right. I've been imposing on you all for way too long... I'll move out tomorrow."

"Where would you even GO?" Christopher's hand tightened on her shoulder. "You can't live alone like this!" He whipped toward me, eyes blazing. "Jennifer, are you HAPPY now? Trying to drive her to suicide? We're going to Aspen. That's final. If your knee hurts so bad, stay in the damn hotel!"

It had always been like this.

Any disagreement between Amanda and me, they immediately closed ranks around her, shut me out completely.

I watched the three of them huddled on the couch—Christopher tall and handsome, Amanda delicate and beautiful, Ryan sweet and adorable. THEY looked like the perfect family. Me? I was just the villain trying to wreck their happiness.

"Fine." I looked away and headed for the kitchen. "Aspen it is."

One week later. A luxury cabin in Aspen.

Three bedrooms. The master had floor-to-ceiling windows and a fireplace. The second bedroom had a private bath. The basement room had one tiny window.

I was still hauling my suitcase when I saw Amanda directing the porter to dump her bags in the master.

"Christopher, wait—this isn't right." I grabbed his arm. "We always take the master. The basement's too damp for my knee."

"Amanda needs sunlight for inspiration, plus she's sensitive to cold." He helped Ryan out of his jacket without even glancing at me. "The basement has heat. How cold could it be? Seriously, Jennifer, when did you become such a princess? Amanda's our GUEST. Can't you be the bigger person here?"

"Yeah! Mom, you're so MEAN!" Ryan ran over and wrapped himself around Amanda's legs. "Aunt Amanda, please sleep in the master with me tonight? I'm scared of the dark."

Amanda stroked his head, shot me a triumphant look, though her voice stayed syrupy: "Sister, if you really mind, I'll take the basement. I honestly don't mind at all—" She coughed delicately.

"You're not going anywhere." Christopher shoved me aside, voice sharp. "Jennifer, take your bags downstairs. Keep this up and we're canceling the whole trip."

I stumbled back.

My heel was killing me—the snow boots had rubbed it raw.

But I didn't argue.

I dragged my suitcase down the dark basement stairs, one step at a time. Above me, their laughter rang out bright and easy. Christopher was teaching Ryan how to snap flattering photos of Amanda in the snow.

The basement was freezing.

The heat was broken.

I sat on the rock-hard bed and pulled my thin sweater tighter. My knee had started its familiar throb—a souvenir from seven years ago. I'd shattered my leg on ice rushing to deliver crucial documents to Christopher.

Those documents had saved his first major deal.

That day he'd brought me flowers, called me his hero.

Now I wasn't even worth the master bedroom.

I pulled out my phone, opened my email. The invitation to the New York International Architecture Design Competition glowed on the screen.

Three months left.

I had to finish the competition model.

Upstairs, Amanda's laugh rang out again, bright as wind chimes.

I stared at that email and slowly tightened my grip on the phone.