From: Jameson & Associates
Subject: You’re Invited to Our New Year’s Eve Gala—Bring a Plus-One!
I nearly scrolled right by—Jameson & Associates was where Devin worked, a major finance firm. Most of the time, the emails focused on marketing campaigns or annual budgets. However, the phrase “Plus-One” grabbed my attention. That was strange. Devin’s company had a strict policy against allowing employees to bring their spouses or dates to work events. He had complained about it a lot. What’s behind this unexpected shift?
After that, I came across a little excerpt:
Dear Mr. Devin,
We’re thrilled to invite you to this year’s special New Year’s Eve Gala. Dress code: It’s a White Party theme. If you’d like, you can bring your plus-one, which would be your wife. The event is set to take place at…
I frowned. Just as I was about to dive back into my reading, I heard Devin’s footsteps softly approaching down the hallway. In a rush of anxiety, I shut the email window and acted like I was completely absorbed in the movie. The living room was softly illuminated by the vibrant glow of Christmas lights that we still hadn’t gotten around to taking down.
He strolled in, a bowl of popcorn in hand. “Is the movie nearly finished?”“He asked, gently placing the bowl down and wrapping a blanket around my shoulders.”
“Yeah,” I replied, trying to keep my smile relaxed, even as my thoughts raced with questions about that email. “Is your company having a holiday party?”“I asked casually.
He paused for just half a second—so brief that I might have overlooked it if I hadn’t been paying close attention to him. He just shrugged. “Sure, just a little one.” It’s really more of a work-related event, you know—no spouses allowed, just the usual rules.
I felt a flutter of unease in my stomach. “I thought I saw something in your mailbox about a plus-one—didn’t you say they never do that?”“
He avoided my gaze. “It’s probably just an outdated template or something.” They always pull that move and then explain themselves later. Honestly, it’s not a big deal.
I felt a pang in my heart. Devin seldom told outright lies; he was more inclined to stay silent. But I saw this for what it truly was: a way to divert attention. I might have been reading too much into it, but his response definitely raised some red flags for me. “I might be able to make it,” I suggested, trying to sound playful and casual. “I really need a fabulous night out, especially after everything we’ve been through this year.”
He shook his head and popped a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “That’s probably not the best idea, Simone.” It’s really just a lot of networking. You’d find yourself completely bored. And I might just be caught up in discussing work stuff, anyway. How about we plan something special just for us, away from the holiday hustle?”
I stayed silent, sealing my lips tight. The rest of the evening unfolded with an uncomfortable tension in the air. That email subject line kept echoing in my head: “Your plus-one (your wife).” If the firm was clearly recognizing me as his plus-one, then why was he so adamantly dismissing the idea?
Several days went by. A nagging sense of unease tugged at me. We were just a few days away from the new year. He talked about hitting the gym later that evening or getting ready for a “work” presentation, but he didn’t say a word about the party. Then, on New Year’s Eve morning, Devin casually mentioned, “I’ll be late tonight, Simone.” “The office needs us to wrap up the end-of-year accounts,” he said, hardly glancing my way as he stuffed his briefcase. I made an effort to conceal my disappointment. Part of me wanted to confront him—“Why are you being dishonest with me?””—but the worry of sparking a conflict kept me from moving forward.
As he walked out at about 7 PM, dressed in a sharp suit and humorously clutching a white tie—claiming it was for “some internal dress code for staff pictures”—my heart raced. I came to the conclusion that I needed to uncover the truth. I had to find out for myself if there was any truth to his claims about the spouse ban or, even worse, if he was seeing someone else.
I discovered the email’s reference to the location and time. The Highland Plaza Hotel, a fancy spot in the heart of downtown, is famous for its extravagant weddings and corporate gatherings. After he left, I put on a simple white dress—an old favorite I kept for special occasions—styled my hair in a loose updo, and requested a rideshare. My stomach twisted and turned the whole time, filled with uncertainty about what awaited me.
The Highland Plaza Hotel sparkled with cheerful lights. The entrance was adorned with white streamers, silver balloons, and a huge “Happy New Year” banner. Guests in elegant white outfits mingled, sharing laughter and warm greetings. I walked into the lobby, my heart racing as I searched the crowd for Devin’s recognizable broad shoulders and neatly styled hair.
I walked up to the reception desk that had been arranged for the event. A courteous gentleman dressed in a tuxedo was tapping away on a tablet. “Could I have your name, please?””
“Simone,” I called out. “I’m here with Devin… my partner for life.” “He works at Jameson & Associates.” I managed a friendly smile, making an effort not to seem too tense.
He gave a slight frown as he looked at his screen. “Just a second.” He typed a few more keys before glancing up, his face showing a hint of apology. “I apologize.” It seems that Mr. Devin showed up with a companion as his plus-one. The list has her name as… Camille, his wife?He stopped for a moment, looking genuinely confused. “Are you… really the right Simone?””
My cheeks burned with embarrassment. The phrase “someone else as his plus-one, labeled as his wife” echoed in my mind. Thoughts swirled in my head. Who was Camille? Is there another woman who says she’s his wife? Could he really have a mistress so bold that he introduced her as me?
Though tears were on the verge of spilling, it was the fire of anger that fueled my adrenaline. “I am his real wife,” I stated with conviction. “He’s lying if he said otherwise.” The receptionist shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting back to the list once more.
A wave of embarrassment washed over me: My husband had actually brought another woman here, even calling her his wife. This went way past cheating. It was a straightforward swap. “Excuse me, I’m a bit uncertain about how to proceed with this.” “Perhaps you should talk to Mr. Devin directly,” the man said, his voice a bit shaky.
I nodded slightly, my eyes filled with tears I wouldn’t let fall. “I’ll take care of that,” I murmured. Taking a deep, shaky breath, I stepped into the ballroom.
The atmosphere was elegant, with a live band playing smooth jazz while corporate professionals in crisp white outfits chatted and mingled. Silver confetti scattered across the floor, while a massive digital clock ticked down the hours to midnight. My heart raced as I looked over the crowd. Then I spotted him by the open bar—Devin, dressed in a white suit jacket, sharing a laugh with a few coworkers. Beside him stood a small brunette in a sleek white dress, holding onto his arm as if she were a prized possession.
I pushed my legs ahead. As I got closer, a silence enveloped the crowd, everyone sensing the tension that was emanating from me. Devin’s face turned white when he saw me, his eyes widening in surprise. The woman, likely Camille, gave me a slow, self-satisfied once-over. I was so furious that I could barely find the words to say anything.
I discovered my voice, fragile and tinged with feelings of betrayal. “Happy New Year, Devin,” I said with a smile. “Or was it Oliver in the original?” But really, let’s stick with the new name. <text”I see you’ve got a ‘plus-one’ now.”
He bounced back swiftly, his forehead creasing as he tried to maintain a sense of calm. “Simone… what brings you here?”He turned slightly, protecting the brunette who stood behind him.
I did my best to steady my voice. “I arrived to celebrate with my husband.” Isn’t that something a wife would typically do? If you even see me as your wife anymore. So, I suppose I’m not on your list, huh, Devin?”
His coworkers shot each other uncomfortable looks, slowly backing away. The brunette flipped her hair. “Devin, is this lady for real?” “I thought you said everything was taken care of,” she said, her voice smooth as she linked her arm through his.
He tensed up, clearing his throat. “Simone, I mentioned that I had a work event.” This situation is quite complex. I—”
I interrupted him, my voice getting louder. “Difficult?” You’re the one who shows off another woman as your wife. That’s not just complicated; it’s downright cheating! How could you humiliate me in front of your whole company like that?”
He glanced around, visibly annoyed by all the attention. “Lower your voice,” he whispered urgently. “How about we step outside for a chat?” I don’t need a scene—
“A scene?” You took your mistress to a party and introduced her as your wife. Are you interested in discussing a particular scene? “Let’s talk right here,” I said, my voice sharp and unyielding, not bothering to hide my frustration from anyone nearby. My vision became hazy with a mix of tears and anger. The music continued to play, yet it seemed as if everyone else in the room was completely focused on us. Camille stepped forward, a sneer curling her lips. “He’s not really your husband if he’s with me.” “Maybe you were just not enough for him.” Her words cut through me like a knife.
My hands tightened into fists. “Get out of my face, you homewrecker,” I snapped.
She lifted her eyebrows, clearly amused by my frustration. Devin raised his hands in frustration. “Alright, that’s enough,” he whispered sharply. “I’ve fallen for Camille, Simone.” It feels like we haven’t truly been in a marriage for months, perhaps even years. It’s time for you to realize that we’re finished.
“Is that really how you wrap it up?” Are you really going to lie and call her your wife? By embarrassing me in front of everyone at a public event?My voice shook, and I felt the tears welling up once more. There was no trace of guilt in his eyes, just a clear annoyance at my unexpected arrival.
He let out a slow breath. “I didn’t mean for you to come across this.” Just… head home, Simone. “We can chat later.”
I noticed that I was shaking all over. “Fine,” I spat, pivoting sharply on my heel. “I just want you to know that you might regret doing it this way, Devin.” <text“I swear to you that.” Then I ran away before the tears could spill over.
The chilly night air nipped at my cheeks. I located my car in the parking garage, slid into the driver’s seat, and allowed the tears to flow. This was my marriage—it felt irreparably shattered. The betrayal was incredibly obvious, filled with disdain. He had swapped me out for someone else in the eyes of his coworkers. After all those years of loyalty and the heartbreak from lost pregnancies, he just tossed me aside like I was nothing more than a burden.
Eventually, I gathered my thoughts and drove home, feeling uncertain about what to do next. The next morning hit hard: I walked up to our shared house, the one we’d called home for almost four years, hoping to collect my thoughts. Instead, I was met with the sight of my suitcase and personal things unceremoniously tossed onto the lawn. He didn’t even wait a full day before kicking me out.
Camille, his new fling, stood on the porch in a silk robe, casually sipping her coffee. She arched an eyebrow in playful amusement as I emerged from my car, my heart aching within me like a relentless drumbeat. My clothes lay in disarray, and the photo frames were shattered on the pavement. I walked closer, feeling numb, unsure if I could even speak.
“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, on your way out by now?”Camille gave me a call. “Grant’s finished with you, if that wasn’t clear.” She shrugged, a smirk playing on her lips, clearly pleased with her victory.
I took a deep breath, prepared to respond, when a shiny black car rolled up behind me. To my surprise, Mr. Landry—Grant’s affluent and imposing grandfather—emerged, looking impeccably dressed despite his age. He stopped for a moment, absorbing the painful sight: me with tears streaming down my face, my things strewn about, and that bold mistress standing on the porch.
He walked with determination. “Simone,” he said, his voice heavy with worry. “What’s going on?””
I attempted to respond, but nothing came to mind. Camille attempted to sneak into the house. Mr. Landry shot back at her, “Hold it right there, young lady.” Do you know where Grant is?She tensed up, clearing her throat. “He’s, um, in there, but—”
At that moment, Grant stepped into the doorway. As soon as he laid eyes on his grandfather, his face went white. “Grandpa… you didn’t mention you were coming over.”
“No, I didn’t,” Mr. Landry replied, his voice lacking warmth as he looked over the heap of Angela’s belongings. “I’m sure you can figure out why I’ve come here now.” Can you tell me why Simone’s belongings are out on the lawn?“
Grant gathered his strength and put on a brave face. “It’s straightforward: We’re finished.” She doesn’t have any rights here. “I’m asking her to go so I can begin my new life with Camille.” He gave her a grin, and she smiled back, albeit a bit uneasily.
Mr. Landry’s eyes blazed with intensity. “As far as I know, this property is still mine.” I let you stay here because you said you wanted to create a life with your wife. Let’s not engage in these trivial games. “You’re not going to just ‘kick her out.’”
Grant blinked, a look of confusion crossing his face. “Could you clarify that?””
“I mean,” Mr. Landry said with a low growl, “Simone stays.” You walk away. I offered you the opportunity to make a life here, but if you choose to humiliate her and betray your promises, then you lose your rights. It’s not only about the house; it’s also about my financial backing. Camille can join you—somewhere else.
Grant’s expression of shock was nearly laughable. “Grandpa, you really can’t take Simone’s side.” “She’s not related to you.”
Mr. Landry took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. “I stand for what is decent.” In my view, Simone is truly part of this family—unlike you, who’s bringing shame upon us all with your affair. “So, grab your stuff and head out.”
Camille gasped, “You can’t do that—Grant’s your grandson!””
He hardly looked her way. “My dear, if you believe that being my grandson gives him the right to treat his wife so poorly, you are mistaken.” “I need you to leave my property right now, or I’ll have to call the police.”
Grant attempted to make his case. “You can’t treat me like I’m just a kid, Grandpa!””
However, Mr. Landry just pointed with a stern expression. “Bring your things inside.” You’ve got one hour. “Then just disappear.”
Angry, Grant marched back into the house. Camille shot Angela a fierce look before she turned to follow. Angela stood at the edge of the lawn, tears welling in her eyes, a wave of relief washing over her. She glanced over at Mr. Landry. “I—I really don’t know how to thank you,” she said, her voice trembling.
He nodded sadly, his expression full of sympathy. “I really thought Grant would grow up.” This isn’t the person I brought up. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Simone, and I won’t let him intimidate you.” Then, in a softer voice, “Do you want to continue living here?” I can transfer it to you. “It’s the bare minimum I can offer.”
She couldn’t help but let the tears flow down her cheeks, overwhelmed by his kindness. “But that’s… that’s really too generous.” I—”
He raised a hand. No. Try not to see it like that. Consider it my way of fixing a serious error my grandson committed. You’re part of the family. “I won’t just watch as you’re pushed aside.”
She felt a rush of relief and thankfulness wash over her. She nodded, tears streaming down her face. “Thank you,” she said softly.
For the next hour, Angela sat in the living room, observing as Grant and Camille pulled out suitcases and boxes, packing them into a worn-out old car. The mistress’s expression grew more and more sour, likely anticipating a grand mansion or an elegant retreat, rather than this exile. Grant threw Angela a few resentful glances, but she just turned away, sipping her water and leaning on Mr. Landry for support.
At last, Grant shut the car door with a bang, and they sped away, likely on the hunt for a motel or a friend’s couch to crash on. Mr. Landry let out a deep sigh, his eyes filled with sorrow over the family turmoil, yet firm in his decision. “I’m really sorry you had to witness that,” he said to her. “I really hope it’s the last time.”
Angela offered a shaky smile. “I feel… free,” she confessed quietly. “I’ve been at this for so long, trying to make everything right, feeling like it’s my fault for not being able to conceive, for not measuring up.” But now, I realize it’s him who decided to disrespect me. Thanks for having my back.
Mr. Landry gently patted her shoulder. “Allow yourself the time you need to heal.” I’ll get a lawyer to prepare the deed transfer. If you’re looking to spruce things up around here, I’m happy to lend a hand with the costs.
She blinked and reached out once more. “Thank you, I… just need a moment to take this all in.”
He walked away from her not long after, vowing to keep in contact. The house was unsettlingly silent, reminiscent of the stillness that follows a storm. That night, Angela fell into bed, her mind racing with everything that had happened during the day. She never thought she would lose Grant in such a public way, but she also never imagined that she would come to see the house as her own personal refuge.
In the days that followed, the legal proceedings moved quickly. Mr. Landry had a powerful impact. Before long, the property was officially in Angela’s name. She wandered through the halls, somewhat lost in thought, recalling the dream she once shared with Grant about building a family in this very place. At least she wasn’t pushed out onto the street. Ironically, the furniture and decor she had picked out for them were still hers to enjoy, except for a few pieces that Grant had taken.
The news traveled quickly among the neighbors. Some arrived with kind words, delicious pies, or offers to lend a hand with anything that needed finishing up. She experienced an unusual blend of sorrow and freedom. She often cried at night, mourning the marriage that had fallen apart so painfully, yet each morning brought a glimmer of hope. With Grant’s negativity behind her, Angela was ready to take control and reshape her own narrative.
One morning, roughly a week after the big argument, a gentle knock echoed at the door. Angela opened the door to find Grant on the other side, his hair a mess and his eyes red and tired. A sudden wave of panic surged within her, yet she managed to maintain her calm. He boldly stepped forward, as if he thought he would be welcomed in.
“I messed up,” he admitted right away, his voice rough around the edges. “I lost everything—my job suspended me, Grandpa cut me off, and Amber left me.” I don’t have anywhere to turn. Can you have a chat with Grandpa and see if we can sort this out?“
Angela looked at him, a whirlwind of familiar emotions flooding back: betrayal, sorrow, pity, and anger. Yet one emotion overshadowed everything else: the recollection of him flaunting that mistress at the New Year’s party, shaming her in front of everyone. She straightened her shoulders. “No, Grant.” That’s not something I need to worry about. Your decision is made. This is the result.
He frowned, irritation flashing across his features. “Do you really think you’re better than everyone else now?” Is it with Grandpa’s approval? <text”I suppose you never really cared for me if you can’t be there for me when I need you the most.”
She was overwhelmed by a wave of anger. “How can you question my love after everything that happened?” You made me feel humiliated. So, you want me to help you sort out your life? “No way, that’s not going to happen.”
He attempted to respond, but Angela just shut the door. She listened as he swore outside, followed by the sound of footsteps angrily retreating. Her heart raced, yet she felt… powerful. Eventually, she learned from the neighbors that Grant had taken off in a borrowed car, leaving no indication of where he might head next. She was indifferent. She had reached her limit.
A little while later, Mr. Landry reached out to her to see how she was doing. He expressed to her how proud he was of the way she managed it. She thanked him for always being there for her. He playfully suggested that if she was thinking about changing up the house—perhaps converting a bedroom into a creative studio—he’d be all for it. She smiled, enjoying the thought.
As the weeks went by, she followed through on that. She painted the walls, swapped out the curtains, and even parted with old furniture that brought back too many painful memories of Grant. She discovered comfort in crocheting, a cherished pastime from her past, and began volunteering at a nearby shelter for single mothers, hoping to return some of the kindness Mr. Landry had extended to her. She sensed her identity coming back—no longer merely “the wife who can’t conceive” or “the woman whose husband cheated,” but a self-reliant individual carving out a new journey.
On weekends, Mr. Landry would swing by, bringing along lunch or a fresh potted plant. He would inquire about her day, and she would reciprocate by asking about his. Their connection became more like family than ever before. One day, she said, “I’m sorry about how things ended up with Grant.” I understand he’s your grandson.
Mr. Landry let out a deep sigh. “That boy had so much potential, but he allowed his arrogance and shallow desires to lead him astray.” He considered you the best thing that ever happened to him, Simone. I just wish you hadn’t had to go through that pain.
She nodded softly. “At least I’m free now.” I intend to live life to the fullest, explore new places, and perhaps consider adoption if I decide I want children down the line. I refuse to let fertility define who I am.
He gave a nod of approval. “Absolutely.” Don’t allow that heartbreak to define your future. Everyone deserves to be happy.
Each night, she discovered her home to be quiet yet filled with a sense of peace. At times, she found herself in tears, longing for the dreams of a future she had once held dear. She saw illusions for what they truly were, and with each new dawn came the promise of a fresh start. She came to understand, in a twist of fate, that the most painful moment of her life—watching Grant show off his mistress—had also been the most powerful push she needed to break free from a marriage devoid of love.
As the months passed, she flourished. She held intimate dinner parties with her encouraging friends, filling the home with joy and warmth. She took a leap and signed up for a pottery class at the community center, where she met new faces and built fresh friendships. She no longer spent her nights anxiously waiting for a husband who never returned. She was living for her own sake.
In the meantime, whispers circulated that Grant never succeeded in mending things with either the mistress or Mr. Landry. He found himself wandering to a different state, looking for a new beginning on his own, it seems. Every now and then, she felt a twinge of regret over how he had wasted everything, but ultimately, it was no longer her concern. She had plenty of her own healing to focus on.
By the next New Year’s Eve, Angela found that the memory of that humiliating night no longer haunted her. She actually organized a little gathering at her place—just a handful of close friends, some great tunes, and a toast to freedom at midnight. She donned a plain white dress, a nod to the dress code from that event, yet this time it was on her own terms.
Mr. Landry showed up as well, wearing a fun Santa hat despite the fact that Christmas had long since passed. He lifted his glass at midnight, declaring, “To Simone, who faced challenges with a grace and strength that few ever discover.” “I salute you, my dear,” she said with a grin, clinking their glasses together. Friends cheered all around her. A wave of warmth and happiness washed over her.
She walked out onto the porch, her eyes fixed on the fireworks bursting in the sky, vibrant trails of color painting the horizon. The sound of joyful explosions resonated deep within her chest. She shut her eyes, allowing the lingering pain of the past to fade away with the wisps of smoke. She was Simone: no longer the innocent wife who placed all her dreams in the hands of a man. She had found her value, realizing that heartbreak can sometimes ignite a complete change.
With the last firework exploding into a cascade of shimmering sparks, Angela couldn’t help but smile gently to herself. Though she had lost a husband, she found a home, independence, and a father figure who recognized her worth. She may still encounter lonely nights or moments of regret, but she no longer felt burdened by despair. Instead, she held onto a deep understanding: She had endured the worst betrayal, faced public humiliation, and emerged stronger, embracing a fresh perspective on life’s possibilities.
Tomorrow, she would wake up in her own bed, beneath her own roof—one that she could genuinely call hers. Maybe she’d stroll over to the nearby café, catch up on the news, and think about getting a pet. The way ahead was completely clear. She realized that her happiness relied not on a man’s loyalty, but on her own strength and the support of unexpected friends. With one last smile at the shimmering sky, Angela turned and walked back inside to meet her friends, ready to face whatever the future held.
