007

MIA

Ryan told me about the dinner only two hours before we had to leave.

“It’s important,” he said while buttoning his shirt. “My boss will be there. A few clients too. Just wear something nice and don’t make it weird.”

I looked at the black dress hanging in the closet. It was the only thing that still fit without pulling too tight across my stomach. “I don’t feel well tonight.”

He glanced at me in the mirror. “You’ll be fine. Just smile and stay quiet if you don’t know what to say.”

That was how I ended up in the passenger seat, hands clenched in my lap, while Ryan drove toward the restaurant. The place was upscale—soft lights, white tablecloths, quiet music. When we walked in, several people already stood near the bar.

Then I saw her.

Lena wore a red dress that hugged every curve and stopped mid-thigh. Her hair fell in loose waves, makeup perfect. She looked like she belonged under these lights. Ryan’s face changed the moment he noticed her. He walked straight over, arms open.

“Lena, you made it,” he said, pulling her into a quick hug that lasted a second too long. “You look incredible.”

She laughed softly and rested a hand on his arm. “Thank you. You always say that.”

I stood a step behind him, feeling invisible. Ryan finally remembered I was there and turned.

“This is my wife, Mia.”

Lena’s smile stayed polite but cool. Her eyes moved over me in one quick sweep—face, chest, stomach, hips—then back to Ryan. “Nice to meet you.”

We sat at a long table. Ryan placed himself between Lena and his boss. I ended up on his other side, close enough to hear everything but far enough that he barely looked my way. Every few minutes he leaned toward Lena, laughing at something she said, refilling her glass, asking about her weekend.

Once, when the conversation turned to weekend plans, Ryan glanced at me and then back at Lena.

“Lena actually goes hiking every Saturday,” he said. “Keeps herself in great shape. Some people could learn from that.”

The table went quiet for half a second. Lena gave a small, embarrassed smile. I stared at the plate in front of me, heat rising up my neck. No one said my name, but everyone understood who he meant.

I barely touched my food. The voices around me blended together. Ryan’s hand stayed on the back of Lena’s chair. He never once reached for mine.

After the main course I leaned closer to him and spoke quietly. “I want to go home. I don’t feel well.”

He kept smiling at the man across the table. “We’re not done yet.”

“Ryan, please.”

He finally looked at me, irritation clear in his eyes. “Don’t make a scene. Just sit.”

I sat. Another twenty minutes passed. Lena told a story that made the whole group laugh. Ryan watched her the entire time, eyes bright the way they never were when he looked at me.

When the check finally came, I stood the moment Ryan did. Outside, the night air felt cold against my hot face. We walked to the car in silence. He unlocked it, got in, and started the engine without a word.

I waited until we were on the main road.

“Why did you do that?” I asked.

He kept his eyes on the traffic. “Do what?”

“Hug her like that. Praise her in front of everyone. Compare me to her.”

Ryan let out a short breath. “You’re being dramatic. She’s a colleague. It’s called being friendly.”

“You barely looked at me the whole night.”

“Maybe because you sat there like a statue. You didn’t talk to anyone. You made it awkward.”

I turned toward him. “I made it awkward? You embarrassed me.”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I embarrassed you? You sat there looking miserable and dragged the mood down. My boss noticed. Lena noticed. Everyone noticed.”

“I’m your wife,” I said, voice rising. “It should be me who feels embarrassed, not you, Ryan!”

The words hung in the car. He didn’t answer right away. When he spoke again, his tone was colder.

“Lower your voice. You’re overreacting again. Lena is confident and put-together. You could try being a little more like that instead of sulking.”

I stared out the window, throat tight. The city lights blurred. I didn’t speak for the rest of the drive. When we pulled into the driveway, Ryan got out first and walked inside without waiting for me.

I sat in the car for another minute, hands still shaking. The red dress, the long hug, the soft way he had looked at her—all of it replayed in my head. I finally opened the door and went inside. Ryan was already in the bedroom, back turned, unbuttoning his shirt.

He didn’t ask if I was okay. He didn’t say good night.

I changed in the bathroom, washed my face, and lay down on my side of the bed as far from him as I could get. The house felt too quiet. My chest ached with something heavy and tired. For the first time in a long while, I didn’t try to make excuses for him in my head.

I just felt broken.