Chapter 2

Brittney

I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the navy-blue dress over my hips. It clung to my frame, in all the right places, elegant and simple. The color complimented my skin tone, and for a moment, I thought I looked….pretty. Not beautiful, but good enough.

Or was I fooling myself?

The voice in my head whispered doubts as I adjusted the hemline. Was the dress too plain? Too cheap- looking? Would they see me as an outsider I already felt like?I thought of Lorraine’s sharp words, Margret’s snide remarks and Tony’s indifference.

No matter what I did—what I wore, how I styled my hair— it would never be enough for them. And maybe deep down, it would never be enough for me.

Tony’s arm rested around my waist as we entered the moores grand dining room. His touch was light, almost absent, but it sent a shiver down my spine. Not a shiver of excitement but the chill that no matter what how clear he seemed, I’ll always be alone.

The room fell silent as we stepped in. Lorraine seated at the edge of the table, looked up with the regal air of a queen on her throne.

Her crisp white blouse and carefully styled hair made her look stylish and in control. Margret sat to her right, her fingers curled around a wine glass as she surveyed me. Her smile was the kind people wore when they wanted you to know you didn’t belong.

“Brittney,” Lorraine greeted, her voice sugary-sweet but devoid of warmth. “How lovely of you to join us.”

I felt my stomach twist, lovely. The word hung in the air, not as a compliment, but as a subtle reminder that I should be grateful to be here at all.

Tony leaned in to kiss his mother’s cheek. She lit up at his affection, her expression softening. But when her gaze shifted to me, it cooled instantly.

“Brittney,” she called again, drawing the syllables as though testing their worth. “You look….presentable.”

Margaret smirked, taking a sip of her wine. “That dress looks familiar. Didn’t I donate something like it to goodwill last month?”

Tony laughed softly, he didn’t defend me. Didn’t say a word to stop them.

“It’s probably the same one,” Margaret continued, her voice light but filled with malice. “You could’ve just asked, Brittney. I’d have sent it straight to you—no need to go digging.”

“Margret,” Lorraine chided gently, though her tone lacked any real reprimand. “Don’t embarrass her.”

Margret grinned wider. “Oh, I’m sure she’s used to it by now.”

Tony’s hand pressed against my back, guiding me towards the table. “Let’s sit,” he murmured. It felt like I was being steered, not as a wife, but as a burden he had to manage.

Dinner began, but I could bring myself to eat. My appetite had dissolved because of their judgmental gazes and whispered critiques.

“Your hair is a bit… unkempt,” Lorriane remarked, her tone filled with false concern. “Tony, didn’t you explain the importance of presentation? She represents you now, after all.”

I froze. My fork hovering over my plate.

“She’s sitting right here,” I muttered under my breath.

Tony waved her off, sounding bored. “Mom, it’s fine. Let’s not nitpick.”

“I’m only saying it for her benefit,” she replied, her expression neutral. “People judge, and if hate for anyone to assume she wasn’t properly cared for.”

Margaret leaned in, her wine glass dangling between her fingers. “Brittney, have you been eating? You look thinner than usual. Done people like that look. But don’t you think it’s a little… sickly?”

Lorriane hummed in agreement, and Tony remained silent, sipping his water as though their remarks weren’t worth acknowledging.

The conversation shifted, their voices rising as they discussed their accomplishments. Lorraine recounted her charity gala, highlighting the prestigious guests she had entertained.

Margaret boosted about her Iatest promotion, slipping in a subtle jab about how some women earned their place, while others simply…. Stumbled into it.

And me? I sat there, silent and shrinking.

Their lives were filled with purpose, ambition and recognition. Mine was a hollow routine: making Tony’s meal, dressing his bed, ensuring his suits were pressed. I had become nothing more than an accessory to his life, a background character in my own story.

“Brittney dear, don’t you agree?” Lorriane’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Agree with what?” I asked, sharper than I intended.

Lorriane raised a perfectly arched brow. “I was saying how a wife’s duty is to uplift her husband. Tony had so much on his plate, it’s up to you to support him, To maintain his focus. Don’t you agree that a woman’s role is to sacrifice for her husband’s happiness?”

The table fell silent. All eyes on me. Margaret lips curled into a smirk, like she was waiting for me to stumble over myself.

Once, I would’ve nodded, agreeing without hesitation. But now, the three years of neglect and humiliation pressed on me, and something inside me snapped.

“I used to agree,” I said softly.

Margaret’s grin faltered, and Lorraine blinked, surprised by my response.

“I used to believe that sacrificing my time, my dreams, even my dignity, was what made a good wife.” I continued, my fingers trembling beneath the table. “But now?” I looked directly at Lorraine.

“Now I think it’s a waste.”

Margaret choked on her wine, coughing as she set her glass down.

Tony turned to me, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Brittney, what are you doing?”