Whenever I made plans without consulting him, he became distant. Sometimes he would ignore me for hours. Other times he would make sarcastic remarks in front of guests.
Eleanor encouraged all of it.
“Marriage requires sacrifice,” she told me one afternoon while we were arranging flowers for a charity event. “A woman must understand when to put her husband's needs first.”
I continued trimming the stems.
“Shouldn't both people do that?”
She looked at me.
“Of course. But a man carrying the responsibility of an entire family needs peace at home.”
I said nothing.
She placed a flower into the arrangement.
“Alexander's father never had to worry about what Richard might find when he came home. I made sure of that.”
I looked at her.
“Are you saying I should give up my career?”
She smiled.
“I'm saying that not every woman is suited to the same responsibilities.”
I wanted to tell her that my career had existed long before I met her son. I wanted to remind her that I had helped Alexander manage financial problems that his own executives couldn't solve. But I had learned that arguing with Eleanor only gave her another opportunity to portray me as difficult.
So I stayed quiet.
That evening, I called my father.
“Dad, do you think people can become unhappy without realizing it?”
He was silent for a moment.
“Of course they can, sweetheart.”
“How do you know when it's happening?”
“You stop recognizing yourself.”
I closed my eyes.
“That's a frightening answer.”
“Then pay attention to it.”
I didn't tell him everything. I wasn't ready.
The night Alexander hurt me began with a business dinner.
He had invited several investors to our home, and Eleanor had insisted on attending. I spent the entire afternoon preparing the house. The table was set with silver cutlery. Fresh flowers stood in the center. The kitchen smelled of roasted vegetables, herbs, and freshly baked bread.
Everything had to be perfect.
When the guests arrived, I greeted them warmly. One of the investors, a man named Thomas Reed, recognized me from my previous work in financial analysis.
“Claire Bennett? I haven't seen you in years.”
I smiled.
“Thomas. It's been a long time.”
He shook my hand.
“I heard you left the industry. What are you doing now?”
Before I could answer, Alexander stepped beside us.
“My wife keeps herself busy with household matters.”
Thomas looked surprised.
“I remember Claire being one of the strongest analysts on the team.”
Alexander laughed.
“That was another lifetime.”
I felt my cheeks grow warm.
Later, while everyone was having dinner, Thomas mentioned a recent investment opportunity. He asked whether I had seen the financial projections.
I answered honestly.
“They look attractive on the surface, but the cash-flow assumptions seem overly optimistic.”
The table became quiet.
Thomas leaned forward.
“Interesting. What concerns you?”
I explained my reasoning. It was a brief conversation, but Alexander's expression changed.
After the guests left, he closed the front door and turned toward me.
“Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“You contradicted me in front of everyone.”
“I was discussing the financial projections.”
“You made me look incompetent.”
“I didn't say anything about you.”
He stepped closer.
“You always have to prove you're smarter than everyone else.”
I felt exhausted.
“Alexander, I'm not competing with you.”
He laughed.
“You never stop, do you?”
I walked toward the kitchen. He followed me. The argument continued. He accused me of disrespecting him. I accused him of trying to control every part of my life.
Then he grabbed my wrist.
Hard.
I tried to pull away.
“Let go of me.”
He tightened his grip.
“Don't walk away when I'm talking to you.”
“Alexander, you're hurting me.”
For a moment, he stared at me. Then his hand moved.
I felt a sharp impact against my face. My cheek struck the edge of the kitchen cabinet.
Everything went silent.
I pressed my hand against my face. Alexander stood frozen. Neither of us spoke.
Then he stepped backward.
“Claire…”
I looked at him.
He seemed shocked.
But the shock didn't last. Within seconds, he was angry again.
“You shouldn't have pushed me.”
I couldn't believe what I had heard.
“You hit me.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I didn't mean to.”