My husband filed a PTO request for his wedding. And the bride isn't me. Good thing I joined his company as HR behind his back. Or I never would've found out about this sweet little surprise. I click to see the details. Applicant: Henry Mitchell. Co-applicant: Vivian Brooks. I pull up Vivian's employee file. Sweet face. Twenty-four. Job title: Henry's personal secretary. I find her on Instagram. Her account is public. Her most recent post, from yesterday, is a wedding photo. Henry in a white suit, his arm wrapped around her waist, smiling like he means it. My finger hovers over the "Approve" button on the request. Click. Enjoy your wedding, Henry. I signed off on it myself. … A message pops up in the company group chat. It's Vivian. She's posted a digital wedding invitation. Below it — the same photo she put on her Instagram yesterday. The chat explodes. I scroll through them with a blank face. Each message hits me like a slap. My chest gets tighter and tighter. Then the HR door swings open. Vivian walks in carrying a tray of wrapped chocolates, beaming. "Ladies, come celebrate with me!" Her voice is sugar-sweet. The happiness on her face isn't something you can fake. Everyone crowds around her, laughing, grabbing handfuls of chocolates. She works her way down the row and stops at my desk last. I don't reach for any. So she sets a handful of chocolates down on my keyboard herself. Like there's no question whether I'll take it. "Avery, you have to come. Promise me." I look up at her glowing face. "Congratulations." I pick up a chocolate, peel back the foil, and pop it in my mouth. Sweet. "Vivian, that bracelet is stunning. Did Henry get it for you??" One of the girls points at her wrist. Vivian laughs, embarrassed, touching the diamond bracelet. "Yeah. He says my skin's too pale not to wear something that sparkles." I stare at the bracelet. The chocolate in my mouth turns bitter. That bracelet was Henry's first-anniversary gift to me. Three months ago, Henry told me he was going on a business trip. When he came back, he said the bracelet had slipped off somewhere. He felt awful about it. Promised me he'd replace it with something better. The bracelet wasn't lost. He gave it to her. Vivian lifts her hand higher. The diamond on her ring finger catches the light. "Henry designed the ring himself. Look, see how the petals curl? Isn't it the most unique thing?" The girls gasp. "Henry is so romantic!" "A man like that? You don't find them anymore!" I once told Henry I wanted a one-of-a-kind ring. But he said, "We're already married. What's with all that cheesy stuff?" Vivian's cheeks flush pink. She keeps going. "Henry's so busy, but he still remembers to pick up cinnamon rolls from my favorite bakery. Always fresh out of the oven." That bakery is downstairs from our apartment. I asked Henry a hundred times to grab some on his way home. He always snapped at me. "That's so far. Why would I go all the way over there?" The bakery is in the opposite direction from where Vivian lives. He wasn't avoiding the detour. He was avoiding doing it for me. "Henry says once we're married, he's putting me in charge of all the finances. Every cent." Three days into my marriage, I handed over my paycheck. Henry said a man should manage the money. That's what keeps a household stable. I look at this glowing girl in front of me. The sweeter she sounds, the harder I breathe. "Avery? You're so quiet." I force my lips into a smile. "He really loves you. You two are going to be so happy."
When I get home, Henry is in the kitchen wearing an apron. He hears the door and pokes his head out, smiling. "You're home! Go wash up, dinner's almost ready." He walks out carrying a steaming plate of shrimp pasta. "Made your favorite tonight. Try it." I drop my bag and head to the bathroom. I twist the faucet on full blast. The rush of water drowns out the sound of me almost throwing up. Back at the table, Henry has already filled my plate. "How's the job hunt going?" He asks me this every single day. It used to feel like he cared. Now it feels like surveillance. I push rice around my plate. "Still looking. No rush." "No rush at all. Take your time. I can support both of us." I almost laugh out loud. Sure he can. After all, he gives me a $300 monthly allowance. That diamond bracelet on Vivian's wrist? I couldn't afford it if I starved myself for two years straight. Henry sets down his fork. "By the way, something came up. I have to fly out to Miami tomorrow. Big project. About two weeks." I look up. "That long?" "Yeah. They need me on-site." He lies smoothly. Not a single crack. "When do you leave?" "Tomorrow morning." I nod. "All packed? Need help?" "I've got it." He drops a piece of shrimp onto my plate. "Eat more. You've gotten so thin." My stomach lurches. It's Vivian's favorite dish. I'm allergic to shellfish. I set down my fork. Henry's brow furrows. The warm look on his face cools instantly. "What now? Food's not good enough?" I shake my head. "Just tired today." "Tired?" He scoffs. "You sit at home all day and you're tired? I work twelve-hour shifts and still come home to cook for you. Do you ever hear me complain?" I look at him. For a second, he feels like a stranger. Is this really the man I married? The man who used to run out at midnight to get me Midol when I had cramps. The man who carried me across flooded streets in the rain. When did he become this? "Henry, when's the last time we actually talked?" He blinks. Then waves his hand, irritated. "What do you call this? I'm talking to you right now." "I've got a million things on my plate at work, and I come home to wait on you. What more do you want from me, Avery?" "Don't be ungrateful." I don't say anything else.
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