My husband called me a whale, kissed his mistress in public, and told me to “dust the library.” Then he strutted into Asheville’s most exclusive Royal Estate Gala thinking he was untouchable.

Jensen Rhodes admired spaces that whispered of wealth and excluded the common man from their hallowed halls. He stepped into the Grand Ballroom of the Royal Estate in Asheville with a blonde woman named Skylar Fox clinging to his arm while he flashed a confident smile that seemed to challenge the world to look away.

I was not standing by his side as the flashbulbs of the photographers went off in a rhythmic dance.

I sat alone in our dark dining room in Ridgecrest while the Thanksgiving feast I prepared with such care turned cold and unappealing on the table. The candles had melted into messy piles of wax that looked like frozen tears against the fine linen.

I had chosen my most beautiful maternity gown because I wanted to feel like a woman who deserved her husband’s attention and love. Jensen finally walked through the front door after nine in the evening and barely glanced at the meal I had spent all day perfecting for him.