When Jake dismissed my request to attend his company’s annual party, I couldn’t shake the suspicion he was hiding something.
Eventually, he reluctantly agreed — but from the moment we arrived, the icy stares and whispered conversations set me on edge.
What I uncovered shattered everything.
I’d never asked my husband if I could join him at his company parties, but this year was different.
Jake had recently been promoted, and I wanted to be supportive. Maybe it was the way he’d been talking about work lately, dropping hints about his importance, about how everyone respected him now.
“So, what should the wife of the new regional manager wear to this party?” I asked.
Jake froze, fork laden with spaghetti suspended midair on its way to his mouth, gaze fixed on his phone screen. “Nothing.
I mean, you’ll just be bored if you come.
Everyone just talks shop and shmoozes.”
“Still, I’d like to come.” I tilted my head, trying to catch his eye. “I’ve never met any of your colleagues and it could be good for your career if they can see you as a family man, not just an employee or boss.”
Something flickered across his face — annoyance?
Fear? “It’s really nothing exciting.
You wouldn’t enjoy it.
Plus, it’s more of a networking thing.”
He quickly delivered the forkful of pasta to his mouth and started chewing. His gaze never left his phone.
The words themselves weren’t unusual, but something about them felt wrong. Like a picture hanging slightly crooked on a wall.
Why did it feel like he didn’t want me there?
Wasn’t this new position supposed to be a big deal for him?
And shouldn’t he be proud to have his wife by his side? A cold, sickly feeling crawled down my spine.
What if he was hiding something? Or worse, someone.
I refused to let it go.
Over the next few days, I casually brought the work party up a few times, probing for details.
Each time, I watched his reactions, cataloging the small tells I’d learned to recognize over our years together: the way his jaw tightened, how his fingers drummed against whatever surface was nearest.
“You just got promoted, Jake!
Don’t people usually celebrate those things at events like this?” I asked over breakfast, pushing my eggs around my plate.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was having an affair with a secretary and didn’t want me to find out.
Finally, Jake snapped. His fork clattered against his plate.
“Fine! If you want to come so badly, come.
I’ll let them know you’re attending as my plus-one.” His voice dripped with condescension.
“But don’t be surprised if everyone’s jealous of my promotion.”
I plastered on a smile, but his words left a bitter taste in my mouth. Maybe I was overthinking things.
Maybe it was just work stress getting to him.
That’s what I told myself as I spent the next week preparing — buying a new dress, getting my hair done, and practicing my “interested in corporate small talk” face in the mirror.
The night of the party, we pulled up to an elegant downtown venue. The building stretched toward the sky, all glass and steel and importance.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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