I wanted to enter a love story as a human being rather than an asset class. For a long time, I believed I had succeeded in doing exactly that.
Simon and I were happy in the ways that matter, making dinner on Sundays and walking through local parks on rainy mornings. He left his architectural drawings on the table, and I left my sketchbooks by the bed.
When my grandfather died eighteen months into our relationship, Simon stood by me in the rain at the cemetery. He held the umbrella over me and stayed silent, which felt like the perfect support at the time.
That version of him was real, and I refuse to pretend the last seven years were entirely fake just because the ending was ugly. The tragedy is that I kept waiting for the good version of him to save me from the man I saw in the conference room.
After the funeral, the lawyers handled the massive inheritance in quiet rooms. My outward life didn’t change because I kept my old car and continued shopping for groceries at the local market.
Simon knew I had inherited some family assets, but he never asked for specifics. At the time, I thought his lack of questions was a sign of respect.
Now I realize that what looked like respect was actually a total lack of curiosity. We married two years later, and I made sure the prenuptial agreement was signed before the wedding.
Simon signed the papers in a room with a notary while barely listening to the legal explanations about asset exclusions. He thought it was just a formality to protect my modest savings as a freelancer.
He kissed me afterward and joked that the boring paperwork was finally finished. It wasn’t my deception that hurt, but rather his certainty that there was nothing important about me he didn’t already know.
His mother, Beatrice Vane, disliked me from the start in the polished way that only certain socialites can manage. She specialized in backhanded compliments disguised as maternal concern.
“It’s so sweet that Diana has her little home office,” she told a colleague of Simon’s at a holiday party. “Simon has always needed a wife who can adapt to his busy schedule.”
Another time, she asked me if I ever planned to take my little design business more seriously by hiring staff. I simply told her that I found income more useful than optics, and she laughed as if I were joking.