My Husband Insisted I Come To The Gala To Impress The New Owner. “Stay In The Back, Your Dress Is Too Casual,” He Muttered. When The Billionaire Arrived, He Barely Acknowledged My Husband’s Handshake. He Walked Straight To Me, Took My Hands, And Whispered, Eyes Shining: “I’ve Been Looking For You For 30 Years… I Never Forgot You.” My Husband Let His Glass Slip.

Buy something cheap if you have to. Just don’t embarrass me.”

Don’t embarrass me. Those three words had been the soundtrack of our marriage for over two decades.

Don’t embarrass me by talking too much at dinner parties. Don’t embarrass me by mentioning your family background. Don’t embarrass me by existing too loudly in spaces where I wasn’t wanted.

I spent the rest of that week searching through thrift stores and discount shops with the $200 Fletcher gave me monthly for personal expenses. Everything had to come from that allowance—my clothes, my toiletries, even the small gifts I bought for his business associates’ wives during holidays. After 25 years, I had become an expert at finding decent clothing for almost nothing.

The dress I finally found was navy blue with long sleeves, modest but elegant. It had cost me $45 at a consignment shop, and the woman behind the counter assured me it had come from an expensive department store originally. I pressed it carefully and hung it in the back of my closet, trying not to think about how Fletcher would find something wrong with it anyway.

The night of the gala arrived faster than I wanted. Fletcher emerged from his dressing room in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo that probably cost more than I spent on clothes in an entire year. His silver hair was slicked back, and he wore his father’s gold watch—the one that reminded everyone he came from money, even if his business was drowning in debt.

“You ready?” he asked. Then he stopped when he saw me. His face immediately darkened.

“That’s what you’re wearing?”

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