I've dreamed of the perfect marriage ever since I was a little girl: a marriage complete with a hardworking husband while I tended to the home and our children, preferably four little rugrats to call my own. I dreamed of a life filled with laughter...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Swiping tears from my cheeks, I turn my back on Daniel and Abigail and quickly walk away from the room. Daniel shouts for me, but I don't bother looking back.
Never turn away from your husband, Charlotte. Disregarding your husband is a sign of disrespect.
The hallway is lined with photos--photos that have been burned into my memory from four years of torturing myself by scrutinizing every detail in every picture: Daniel and Abigail on their first day of kindergarten as he holds her hand while they stare at the camera with toothless smiles; Daniel and Abigail embracing for a cheesy prom photo as her hand delicately rests on his chest and his hand firmly grips her hip; Daniel and Abigail posing after their high school graduation as he holds her bridal style while she throws their caps in the air; and, the worst of all, Daniel and Abigail hugging on our wedding day as they stare into each other's eyes in complete adoration.
This photo hurts me the most. He looks so happy with her in his arms, a genuine smile on his face as he stares down at her longingly, looking at her as if she were the love of his life and the woman who should be by his side. All of the photos he and I took together that day are stale and lifeless with his eyes always looking at the camera and never at me. He did everything he could to avoid me as much as he could that day. He was practically invisible to me except for the few events that required us to be together: the vows, the photos, the first dance, and the cake cutting. Honestly, if it weren't for the lifeless photos we do have together, you'd never know there was even a groom there that day. I didn't let it bother me, though. Not then, at least. I was foolish enough and with just enough naive confidence to believe I could win him over eventually--that I could break down his walls and get him to fall in love with me.
It all seems so silly now. Four years Daniel and I have been married and there's not one photo of me in this hallway. Not. A. Single. One. This hallway memorializes what I should have known from the very beginning: I'm nothing more than a placeholder for her.
Rushing down the stairs, I have my eyes targeting the front door. I need to get out of here before I say or do something I shouldn't ...
... Well, say or do something I shouldn't do again.
My heels click against the floor as I reach the first floor. I just need to take a few more steps and I'm free.
Free to cry.
Free to scream.
Free to reset.
"Charlotte," Katherine says, her voice stopping me in my place, "what on earth was that noise?"
Pressing my forehead against the door, I know I can't do this--not with Katherine and certainly not in front of the entire family, a family I have no place in. Quickly, I wipe more tears from my cheeks, and do my best at masking the inner turmoil swirling within my chest. With a whisper of a voice, I say, "I need to leave now."
