My husband canceled our tenth anniversary dinner for "urgent work"—then I sold his $180,000 vintage Porsche to fund my dream business. Six months later, my company acquired his biggest client, and he still doesn't know I'm the CEO.
"Rain check on tonight, babe? This Tokyo deal won't close itself."
The text message glowed on my phone screen, the fifth anniversary Michael had missed in our twelve years together. I stared at his message, fingers hovering over the keyboard as I sat alone in our dining room, surrounded by unlit candles, unopened champagne, and the remnants of a hand-prepared anniversary dinner that had taken me eight hours to cook.
I took a slow sip of my untouched champagne, my gaze drifting to the garage through our bay windows, where his beloved 1973 Porsche 911 Carrera RS sat gleaming under the automatic lights. That car—his "retirement fund," his "legacy," his "baby"—the one thing he never canceled plans for.
Behind me on the wall hung our wedding photo, both of us beaming with promise. If you'd told me then that a decade later I'd be sitting alone on our anniversary while Michael closed "one more deal," I wouldn't have believed you. Yet here I was, another evening sacrificed to Pearson Dynamics, the company that had slowly consumed my husband and our marriage.