She smiles at our husband as she moves, and he blushes, overcome by her beauty. But I know what her smile really means...Her smile is her revenge.
Times like this, when she slips her hand into mine and holds on tight, and our husband becomes just a shadow in the doorway.
The sullen boy sitting before me is not my husband, and the girl he is fretting over isn't me, will never be me.
None of the wives mention the security guards by the door, who will probably tackle us to the ground if we try to leave without our husbands.
I nod like I'm not at all unnerved by this new cold side to him. Not cruel like his father. Not warm like the husband who sought me out on quiet nights. Something in between. This Linden has never woven his fingers through mine, never chosen me from a line of weary Gathered girls, never said he loved me in a myriad of coloured lights. We are nothing to each other.
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