Living for myself

​The ride home was quiet, except for the swish of the windshield wipers against the glass. I leaned my head against the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of neon. For the first time in five years, I didn’t check my phone every thirty seconds to see if Jamie had texted. I didn't rehearse an apology for leaving early. I just… breathed.

​When the car pulled up to the house, it felt less like a home and more like a museum. Everything inside was curated by Jamie’s taste. The monochromatic furniture, the discerning artworks, the lack of a single family photo. 

He didn't want to be reminded that anyone else lived there.

​I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water, the sound of my shoes echoing as I walked. This was my life.

​I went upstairs to our bedroom which felt like a hotel room. I unzipped my dress, wiped away the makeup that always covered my expressions like a mask, and brushed out the hair that Jamie had called a mess.

​I remembered the early days, right after the wedding. I used to wait up for him. I would sit on the edge of this very bed, wearing silk lingerie that made me feel exposed and hopeful, listening for the sound of his car in the driveway. Back then, I thought that if I was beautiful enough, or sexy enough, he would eventually look at me with something other than obligation.

​“Why are you still awake?” he would ask as he unbuttoned his shirt, not even glancing my way. “I’m tired, Alexandria. Go to sleep.”

​Eventually, I stopped waiting. But I never stopped serving him.

​My phone chimed on the nightstand. My traitorous heart flipped in joy. I knew he was about to ask me to get stuff done for him.

​Jamie: I couldn't find my cufflinks for tomorrow’s meeting. The silver ones with the sapphire inlay. Have them ready on my dresser before you go to bed.

​No “Are you okay?” No “Why did you leave?” Just an order to get what he wants done.

​I stared at the screen until the light dimmed. 

In the past, I would have scrambled out of bed, panicked at the thought of him being inconvenienced. I would have searched every drawer until I found them, polishing them until they were shining, just to see if he’d give me a nod of acknowledgment in the morning.

​Tonight, I was tired. So I set the phone face down as I made the decision to leave.

*

​I woke up at 6:00 AM, which was my normal routine. Jamie liked his breakfast at 7:00 sharp. We never hired chefs—he claimed they never got the seasoning right. He wanted his morning food prepared by me.

​In high school, it had been Gatorade and chemistry notes. Now, it was black coffee at exactly 180°F and dry sourdough toast.

​I was in the kitchen when I heard his footsteps on the stairs. He entered, already dressed in a charcoal suit, the scent of cinnamon and ambroxan and an expensive soap preceding him. He looked perfect, as always. Not a hair out of place, no sign of the late night he’d had.

​He sat at the island, opening his tablet immediately to check the markets. I placed the coffee in front of him.

​"The cufflinks weren't on the dresser," he said. He didn't even look up from the screen.

​"I didn't look for them," I said quietly, leaning against the counter.

​The silence that followed was overwhelming. His fingers paused over the screen. He slowly raised his head, his blue eyes fixing on mine with confusion written all over it. It was the most attention he’d given me in weeks.

​"You didn't look for them?"

​"No. I was tired, Jamie. I'm sure they’re in your jewelry box where you left them."

​He stared at me for a while, with an intense gaze and a tightened jaw. "I don't have the time to look for things, Alexandria. That is why you are here. To ensure the house runs so I can run a company."

​That is why you are here. He didn't even hide it anymore. I wasn't his partner; I was a domestic luxury, a streamlined system meant to make his life easier.

​"I'm not a concierge, Jamie," I said, my voice remarkably steady.

​He let out a short huff of a laugh. "Since when? You've spent the last ten years making sure my life is perfect. Don't start a rebellion now because you’re upset about a dinner party. It’s beneath you."

​He took a sip of his coffee, grimaced, and set it down. "It’s lukewarm. Make me a new one."

​He went back to his tablet. I looked at the coffee and looked at him, then I felt a nonchalant coldness settle in my whole body that mirrored the way he treats me.

I walked out of the room.

*

​The day went by in a haze, he had already left. Everywhere in the house reminded me of the woman I was.

I usually just sit and read or I would arrange his stuff but I kept walking about, from the study where I spent hours organizing his files to the sunroom where I sat alone most afternoons, waiting for the sound of his car. I even went to the nursery that we had started to paint before the miscarriage, which was now a home gym, because Jamie didn't want a child, yet.

​I spent the afternoon at the mall. Not shopping for him, but for myself. I bought a suitcase and a few things I will be needing.

I didn't have to spend his money. I didn't just stay at home to become a piece of furniture. I wrote articles for Kendrick. We used to be best friends until Jamie happened. 

​As I walked through the luxury boutiques, I saw Sarah. She was coming out of a jewelry store, looking radiant. When she saw me, her eyes widened for a split second before curling into her usual cat-like grin.

​"Alexandria! Shopping for the anniversary?" she cooed, stepping closer. She leaned in, lowering her voice. "I saw Jamie looking at a very expensive watch today. I told him it would look great on you. I'm sure he'll give it to you as an anniversary gift. He's the best."

​I looked at her… like, I really looked at her. I used to be so jealous of Sarah. I used to wonder what she had that I didn't. Why did he listen to her? Why did he laugh with her?

​Now, I just felt pity.

​"You can have the watch, Sarah," I said. "As a matter of fact, you can have all of it."

​Sarah’s smile faltered. "What are you talking about?"

​"Nothing," I said, moving past her. "Just… make sure you visit him on that day. He’s going to need you."

​When I got home, the house was dark. Jamie was working late again, or perhaps he was out with his friends. I didn't care.

​I went to my desk in the small corner of the bedroom. I pulled out a sheet of heavy cream stationery. I thought about what to write. Should I scream? Should I tell him how much he hurt me? Should I bring up the high school years, the pregnancy, the way he let Sarah and her mother humiliate me?

​No. He would say I was being irrational, I was being sentimental. He might just throw it away without reading it.

​I wrote the date at the top. Two days until our anniversary.

​I spent the night packing the things I had brought into this marriage. My books, my old photos, the few pieces of jewelry that had belonged to my grandmother. I left everything he had bought me. The emerald dress, the diamonds, the designer bags. They were the price of admision for a show I was no longer performing in.

​By 2:00 AM, I was done. I hid the suitcase in the back of the guest closet.

​I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. When Jamie finally came home an hour later, I didn't pretend to be asleep. I didn't turn on the light to ask him how his day was.

The mattress shifted under his weight as he climbed onto the bed. He didn't touch me nor did he say anything. He just turned his back to me.

​"We're going to the Gala at the museum tomorrow," he muttered into his pillow. I guess he was tired. "Make sure my tuxedo is pressed. And tell the gardener the hedges look sloppy. It's an embarrassment." He said sleepily.

​"Okay, Jamie," I whispered.

​I wasn't agreeing to the tuxedo or the hedges. I was agreeing to what I had in mind.

​Forty-eight hours left. I could endure forty-eight more hours of being a statue. Because on the morning of our anniversary, I was going to walk out that door, and Jamie Grayson would finally have the one thing he always treated me like.

​Nothing.