Emily checked her reflection in the hallway mirror, smoothing her hair before giving herself a final once-over. The new dress—navy blue, understated yet elegant—fitted her perfectly. Low-heeled shoes, a matching handbag. Everything was just right for meeting her husband’s colleagues.
“James, I’m ready!” she called toward the study.
“Coming!” he replied, though the muffled conversation from the room suggested he was still on the phone.
Emily sighed. Late again. She’d tried so hard to make a good impression on these people James now worked with. Three months had passed since he’d been promoted to deputy director, yet she still felt out of place at corporate events.
“Em, listen,” James finally appeared, fastening his blazer as he walked. “Simon and his wife will be there—remember, I told you about him? He’s influential. A lot depends on him. Try to get along with his wife.”
“Of course,” Emily nodded. “What does she do?”
“Not sure. Probably a homemaker. Or charity work, something like that. Just chat with her, you’ll find out.”
James spoke distractedly, his mind clearly elsewhere. Emily bit back further questions.
The restaurant was softly lit, with gentle music playing. A large table was already occupied by several couples. James immediately joined the men, leaving Emily to find her seat among the wives.
“You must be Emily?” An elegant woman in her fifties, dressed in an expensive suit, smiled at her. “I’m Elizabeth, Simon’s wife. James has told us about you.”
“Lovely to meet you,” Emily extended her hand. “What exactly did he say?”
“Oh, just how wonderful you are—so supportive,” Elizabeth replied, though her assessing glance betrayed something colder.
Emily sat beside her, tension prickling. The other women around the table were of a similar age, all expensively dressed with practiced poise.
“What do you do, Emily?” asked a slender brunette named Anna.
“I’m a freelance translator,” Emily answered. “Mostly technical documents.”
“How interesting!” Elizabeth exclaimed, though her tone suggested otherwise. “Which languages?”
“German and French.”
“I see. Any children?”
“Not yet,” Emily flushed. The question always unsettled her.
“Plenty of time for that!” a plump blonde chimed in. “I’ve raised three—all grown now. My eldest is in finance, lives in New York.”
The conversation rolled predictably: children, grandchildren, luxury holidays, shopping. Emily listened, interjecting occasionally, feeling increasingly alien.
“Who do you translate for?” Anna asked abruptly.
“Various clients. I work independently.”
“Ah, freelance.” Anna nodded. “Must be convenient, working from home. Though the income must be unpredictable?”
“It’s stable enough,” Emily replied, sharper than intended.
“Of course,” Elizabeth smiled emptily. “We’ve started a charity foundation, actually. Organising events for children’s homes. Rewarding work! Would you like to join?”
“I’ll think about it,” Emily said cautiously.
“You’d need to commit time, of course. Attend meetings, network. All of us here have the flexibility—our husbands provide well, so we can focus on philanthropy.”
Emily nodded, understanding the subtext. She wasn’t one of them. She worked for a living.
“Having fun?” James appeared, his hand on her shoulder.
“Lovely,” she forced a smile.
“James, your wife is delightful!” Elizabeth beamed. “We’re recruiting her for our foundation.”
“Brilliant!” James grinned. “Emily, you’ve wanted to do something meaningful!”
Emily stared at him. When had she ever said that?
“Just considering,” she repeated.
“No rush,” Elizabeth said smoothly. “Though there’s a membership fee—five hundred a month. Peanuts, really, for families like ours.”
Emily nearly choked on her wine. Half her monthly income!
“Hardly anything!” James waved dismissively. “You should join, Em. Think of the children!”
The rest of the evening blurred. Emily smiled mechanically, her mind churning. Last year, they’d bought their first house together. She’d been so proud when James got promoted. Now she realised: he didn’t want a partner. He wanted an accessory to his success.
At home, she removed her jewellery in silence. James loosened his tie.
“Well? What did you think of Elizabeth?”
“She’s… something. That foundation of hers—”
“Perfect for you! Networking, status.”
“James, I have a career.”
He scoffed. “Freelancing isn’t a career. This is an opportunity.”
“For what? Being a trophy wife?”
“What’s wrong with that?” He gestured impatiently. “Look at those women—charity galas, travel, beautiful lives!”
“Funded by their husbands.”
“So? I’ll provide. You could quit tomorrow!”
Emily sat on the bed, head in her hands. How to explain that work wasn’t just income—it was her identity?
“James, I won’t be decoration.”
“Decoration?” He laughed harshly. “You translate appliance manuals. What’s so impressive?”
The words stung. She locked herself in the bathroom, sinking onto the tiles.
Five years ago, they’d met as equals—James a junior manager, her a fledgling translator. Now he looked down on her.
The next morning, James left without breakfast. Emily lingered over coffee, watching the world outside.
Her phone rang.
“Emily? It’s Elizabeth. Fancy a chat?”
An hour later, they sat in a café. Elizabeth stirred her tea.
“I saw how uncomfortable you were. I understand why.”
Emily waited.
“I used to work too—senior accountant. Loved it. Then Simon’s career took off. I was told to choose: my job or being his wife. I chose wrong.”
“Why tell me this?”
“Because I regret it. At first, the lifestyle dazzled me. But eventually, you realise—you’re nobody without him. Just an ornament.”
“And your solution?”
“Hold on to yourself. You have skills. Value them. Real status comes from achievement, not reflected glory.”
Elizabeth confessed she secretly ran a small consultancy under the guise of charity.
“And the foundation?”
“It’s real. But the fee’s fifty pounds—I wanted to see James’ reaction. He didn’t blink at five hundred.”
That evening, James was buoyant.
“Simon adores you! We’re invited to their country house.”
“Lovely.”
“Joining the foundation?”
“On my terms. I’ll translate for their projects—pro bono, as a professional.”
At the weekend gathering, Emily spoke confidently about her work. Simon leaned in.
“We need a translator for German clients. Interested?”
James gaped. “But—she’s freelance.”
“Good work speaks for itself,” Simon said.
On the drive home, James was quiet.
“What’s wrong?”
“Didn’t expect Simon to offer you a job.”
“Why not?”
“I thought you’d focus on the foundation.”
“James,” she asked suddenly, “why do you love me?”
“You’re beautiful, clever… a good wife.”
“If I quit working, would you love me more?”
“What? It’d just be… more fitting. For my position.”
“Fitting.” Emily exhaled.
That night, she lay awake, weighing convenience against authenticity. The answer was clear.
Next morning, she said, “I’ll work with Simon. And James—I won’t just be your wife. I need my own place in the world.”
He hesitated. “If that’s what you want.”
As he left, Emily turned to the window. For the first time in months, she looked forward to the day—not as someone’s partner, but as herself.
Some things are worth more than status. Yourself, for one.
