My Husband Brought His Mistress To A Business Dinner To Humiliate His “Useless” Wife. He Didn’t Know I Speak Eight Languages Or That I’m The One Who Actually Owns Our Mansion. Am I Wrong For Letting Him Ruin Himself?

The Invisible Wife

Ten years of marriage and my husband had never once taken me to a party with him. Not until his company’s holiday dinner, where I left all the foreign guests speechless by speaking fluently in eight languages. Ten years.

If a person’s life is a bolt of fabric, I had cut out the most beautiful, vibrant section to sew a thick dish towel for the man named Julian. I was standing in front of the large oval mirror, a mirror imported from Italy that Julian himself had chosen when we moved into this sprawling house in Greenwich, Connecticut.

The mirror reflected a 35-year-old woman with a face that still held delicate features, but with eyes clouded by resignation. I was wearing a beige high-necked knit dress that fell below my knees. It was the kind of attire Julian called decent; to me, it felt more like a shroud wrapping up the last vestiges of my vitality.

The bedroom door swung open without a knock. No one ever knocked in this house. For the last 10 years, Julian came in, bringing with him a mix of expensive cologne and the cold scent of tobacco. He looked at me, his eyes scanning me from head to toe like a merchant appraising clearance goods.

“Are you planning on wearing that rag to the company dinner?”

His voice was low, not loud, but each word pierced my ears like a thorn. I lowered my head, my hand fidgeting with a fold in the dress.

“I think it’s elegant and warm,” I mumbled.

“Elegant?”

Julian let out a scornful laugh. He came closer and adjusted the collar of my dress, but his gesture was so rough it felt like he was trying to strangle me.

“You’re no different from those fishmongers from the old Fulton market who hit the lottery. Do me a favor and remember that tonight’s dinner is at the Apex Club at One Vanderbilt. The guests are all European partners, the elite. If you’re coming as an ornament, at least be a decent one. Don’t make me look ridiculous for marrying someone from the sticks.”

Hidden Treasures

I remained silent, a silence I had perfected over 3,650 days. I wasn’t always like this. At 25, I had a sharp tongue capable of debating face-to-face with linguistics professors in three languages.

I never knew the meaning of the word submission. But 10 years with Julian had meticulously polished me, pruning my thorns, wearing down my edges, turning me into a smooth pebble that stayed wherever it was placed. He tossed a gold-edged invitation and an elongated velvet box onto the vanity.

“Wear this necklace and remember this, Eleanor. Your only mission tonight is to smile, nod, and stay quiet. Above all, do not open your mouth to say anything stupid. Your high school level English would only give them a reason to laugh at me. Don’t embarrass me.”

He turned and left without waiting for my reply. The sound of his heavy footsteps echoed on the wooden staircase. I picked up the velvet box. Inside lay a dazzling diamond necklace. It was beautiful but cold.

He claimed the outside world would hurt me. So he locked me in this house, cutting off all my ties with old friends and colleagues. He said I didn’t know how to socialize, that my English was terrible, so it was best for me to stay home and manage the meals while he went out to battle and bring in the money.

I smiled bitterly, a crooked smile in the mirror. Julian didn’t know, or pretended to forget, that before I was Mrs. Thorne, I was Eleanor, the walking encyclopedia. I opened the bottom drawer of the closet where I kept tightly sealed moisture-proof bags.

I took out an old wooden box with a worn lid. Inside were not jewels, but my treasures: a master’s degree in linguistics from Heidelberg University in Germany, a top-level UN simultaneous interpreter certification, photos with diplomatic delegations from Japan, Russia, Italy, and my faded ID badge from the NGO to which I had dedicated my youth.

My fingers slid over the German words on my summa cum laude diploma. I hadn’t used it in 10 years. Ten years of letting the dust of time cover my intellect in exchange for the title of devoted wife, the pillar of the home.