time at the office, stopped calling me to see how my day was going, and—even when he was at home—he spent more time in his home office than he did cooking with me, or lounging by the pool like he used to do. I wish I knew what had driven this wedge between us but I didn’t have a clue. I’d become so used to being ignored, that I felt like we hardly knew each other anymore. I’d become a ‘stepford wife’; someone for Weston to hold on his arm at company functions.
Walking through the spacious living room and hallway to West’s office, I approached the door. I could hear him talking to someone on the phone, so I quietly opened the door to let him know I was leaving. When he looked up at me, something in his eyes shifted and he told the person on the other end of the phone that he needed to go but would talk to them later. The way he was watching me while he spoke made me feel uneasy, but quite frankly I’d never involved myself in his work affairs, and I wasn’t about to start now.
Walking over to him I sat down on his grand mahogany desk. Looking around his office at the rows and rows of law books stacked on the book-shelves, you’d think we lived in a library. The abundance of deep rich wood in this room always made me feel out of place. I’d never really liked grand and expensive things, but Weston insisted on having it all; not just in his office downtown, but at home too. I’d tried to argue that we didn’t need it all, but our interior decorator managed to convince him that this was all stuff that we needed, and it was money well spent. If you ask me, I’d say Julia Stephens—a well-known Chicago designer—really wanted in Weston’s pocket book, and his pants. Anytime I was around her she’d look at me as though I was beneath her; as if I had no business being married to my wealthy husband. Like she just didn’t see what he saw in me. But frankly, neither did I.
I heard him sigh and look up at him, “I’m leaving and I’ll be back on Monday.” I wished with my whole heart that he would acknowledge me the way a husband in love should, but I knew it wasn’t going to happen.
“Well, I’ll be busy here and at the office throughout the weekend so don’t expect to hear from me. I’ll just say goodbye now. Enjoy your trip,” he said coolly. Ever the business man I thought. I wanted to reach out and touch his cheek to get some sort of emotion from him. I was his wife, and I wanted to feel close to him again. I needed to know that I was enough for him.
I leaned in and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips, pulling back and smiling, hoping for something in return. But again I received nothing. Disappointed, I walked away from him and out of the office. I made my way to the foyer where my bags were and grabbed my purse, cell phone, rolling suitcase and keys, and walked out the front door. My heart felt heavy but I hoped I would feel better—and a bit lighter—when I landed in Boise and saw my parents.
I drove my deep red Aston Martin Vanquish along the highway towards the airport. Despite my ability to avoid all things expensive, I had to have this car. It wasn’t available for purchase on the open market, but West had taken on a case for some European big wig and won, so he made them throw this car into the deal. I’d always wanted a red sports car and it was a total dream to drive. All sleek and sexy, the interior was fine black leather. It had too many buttons to mess with so I just drove the car, without caring what else it did.
I made my way through the Chicago O’Hare airport to their long term parking, making sure to hide my baby at the back so there was less chance of some idiot swinging their door out into her. Gathering my luggage, I made sure to lock up and took a shuttle to check-in.
After a two hour wait in the first class lounge, I boarded a United flight and found my seat. Part of the big deal about flying first class was being