Chapter 2
Jennifer's POV
That Thanksgiving, I finally understood what it meant to be unwanted.
Seven days in Aspen. Christopher took Amanda and Ryan skiing, drinking hot cocoa, brunching at mountaintop restaurants. My knee flared up the moment it snowed, so I stayed trapped in that freezing basement.
Thanksgiving dinner, Amanda roasted marshmallows by the fireplace and fed them to Ryan while Christopher snapped photos, grinning. When I walked in carrying the turkey, Ryan didn't even look at me. Just said: "Mom, move. You're blocking me and Aunt Amanda."
Flying back to New York, I thought the nightmare was over.
I was wrong.
Two weeks after Thanksgiving, the annual Upper East Side winter charity gala rolled around.
Christopher's company was the main sponsor. As his wife, I was supposed to show up looking the part.
I'd started dieting a month early, desperate to squeeze into that black velvet gown—the one Christopher once said looked stunning on me. After Ryan, my body had changed. The stretch marks on my belly became one of his excuses for not touching me.
The afternoon of the gala, I was in the bedroom wrestling with the zipper.
The door opened.
Christopher walked in wearing a perfectly tailored tux, carrying a gift box.
For a second, warmth flickered in my chest. Maybe—
"Amanda's zipper broke." He cut through my stupid hope, his eyes sweeping over my flushed face with pure disgust. "Take that off. She needs it."
I froze. "What? Are you kidding me? I've been prepping for this for WEEKS! Why can't Amanda wear her own stuff?"
"Look, nothing she has is formal enough. Plus she's my date tonight—she's representing the company." He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. "And Jesus, look at you. You're bursting out of it. It's embarrassing. Amanda's got the figure for it. She'll actually do the dress justice. So just—take it off. Now."
My heart dropped. Ice-cold.
"I'm your WIFE, Christopher. You're seriously taking your sister-in-law as your date? What the hell does that make me?"
"Oh, come on. You're just going through the motions anyway. Nobody gives a damn what you wear." He yanked the zipper down. "God, stop being so selfish about this. Amanda's been struggling, okay? Tonight's good for her. Just throw on a coat or whatever."
The dress slid off my shoulders.
I stood there in my underwear, exposed, humiliated beyond words.
This dress. I'd starved myself for a MONTH to fit into it. Salads and boiled chicken every single day, so hungry I couldn't sleep. All so I could stand beside him tonight without embarrassing him.
Three seconds. That's all it took him to strip it away.
Just like everything else these past seven years.
I peeled off the dress, numb.
Half an hour later, I trailed behind Christopher and Amanda into the ballroom wearing my old coat.
Amanda wore MY black velvet gown, the fabric hugging her perfect waist. She clung to Christopher's arm, all smiles, soaking up compliments. Ryan looked sharp in his custom suit, playing the little gentleman beside them.
"Wow, Christopher, your wife just keeps getting more beautiful. That dress is absolutely perfect on her." A Wall Street guy walked over, champagne in hand, eyes on Amanda.
Amanda ducked her head, leaned into Christopher. Didn't correct him. "Oh, you're too sweet. Christopher's got great taste, doesn't he?"
Christopher clinked glasses, smiling. "You're very kind." Said nothing else.
I stood ten feet away. Might as well have been invisible.
The society wives eyed my ratty coat, whispering.
"Who's that woman dressed like the help?"
"Oh my God, that's Christopher's actual wife. Stay-at-home mom. No wonder he brought the sister-in-law instead. I'd be mortified too."
Each word stung.
I took a breath and headed to the dessert table for Ryan's favorite macarons.
When I came back, plate in hand, Ryan was holding Amanda's hand, announcing loudly to the guests around them: "Aunt Amanda's my REAL mom, the pretty one! That fat ugly lady over there? She's just the help!"
He pointed straight at me.
The most innocent voice. The cruelest words.
The ballroom went dead silent.
Every eye turned. Mocking, pitying, gleeful.
The plate froze in my hand. My nails dug into my palm until blood seeped out.
I felt nothing.
"Ryan, hey, don't say that, buddy." Christopher's reprimand was pure performance.
No anger on his face. Just amusement.
Amanda giggled behind her hand. "Oh gosh, kids, right? They just say whatever pops into their heads. Sis, come on—you're not actually mad at a kid, are you? Ryan just thinks I look prettier today, that's all."
I stared at the three of them. The whole thing suddenly felt absurd.
I'd given up my career for this family. Destroyed my health. Lost myself completely.
I thought I'd been building a home. A real HOME.
But now I got it.
To them, I was just a doormat.
A clingy housekeeper even her own son despised.
I didn't lose my temper like usual. Didn't cry.
I set the macarons down and walked toward the exit.
"Jennifer, what the hell are you doing? The gala's not over—don't you DARE embarrass me!" Christopher hissed behind me.
I didn't look back.
Home. I locked myself in the basement storage room.
My worktable was covered with the model I'd spent three months building—"Wings of Rebirth." Countless pieces of balsa wood and acrylic, assembled bit by painstaking bit.
I ran my fingers over its elegant curves. The tears finally came.
This was my entry for the international architecture competition.
The only thing in this house that made me feel ALIVE.
My phone lit up.
Christopher's text: "Amanda needs your studio tomorrow for her show preview. Clear out all that junk."
I stared at the message through blurred vision.
Then I turned off my phone and went back to my work.
