The Wife Without Status
Emma checked herself in the hallway mirror, adjusting her hair before giving her outfit one last critical glance. The dark blue dress was elegant and fitted perfectly, paired with modest heels and a matching handbag—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 inside made it clear he was still on the phone.
Emma sighed. They were going to be late. Again. She’d been eager to make a good impression on the 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 company events.
“Emma, listen,” James finally appeared, buttoning his blazer as he walked. “Robert and his wife Victoria will be there—you remember me mentioning him, right? He’s influential, and his opinion carries weight. Try to get on with his wife.”
“Of course,” Emma nodded. “What does she do?”
“Not sure, really. A homemaker, I think. Or some charity work. Just chat with her, you’ll figure it out.”
He spoke distractedly, already thinking ahead. Emma didn’t press.
The restaurant was dimly lit, with soft music playing. A large table was already occupied by several couples. James immediately joined the men, leaving Emma to find her seat among the wives.
“You must be Emma?” A poised woman in an expensive suit extended her hand. “Victoria. James has told us about you.”
“Lovely to meet you,” Emma replied. “What exactly did he say?”
“Oh, just general things. How supportive you are, a wonderful wife.” Victoria smiled, but there was an assessing flicker in her gaze.
Emma sat beside her, sensing tension. The other women were similarly polished, all projecting effortless sophistication.
“What do you do, Emma?” asked a slim brunette named Anna.
“I’m a freelance translator. Technical documents, mostly.”
“Oh, how fascinating,” Victoria said, though her tone suggested otherwise. “Which languages?”
“French and German.”
“Lovely. Any children?”
“Not yet.” Emma flushed slightly—the question always made her uncomfortable.
“Plenty of time!” a plump blonde chimed in. “I’ve three grown children myself. My eldest is in finance, lives in New York.”
The conversation rolled predictably: children, holidays, designer purchases. Emma listened, interjecting occasionally, but felt increasingly alien.
“Which agency do you translate for?” Anna asked suddenly.
“I work independently.”
“Ah, freelancing.” Anna nodded. “Must be nice, working from home. Though the income must be inconsistent?”
“It’s steady enough,” Emma said, sharper than intended.
“Of course,” Victoria’s smile was politely empty. “A few of us run a charity—organizing events for children’s hospitals. Rewarding work. Would you like to join?”
“I’ll consider it,” Emma said cautiously.
“Do think it over. Though it does require time—meetings, events. Fortunately, our husbands’ incomes allow us such luxuries.”
Emma understood the implication. She wasn’t one of them.
“Everything alright?” James appeared, hand on her shoulder.
“Perfect,” she forced a smile.
“James, your wife is lovely,” Victoria said. “We’ve invited her to our charity.”
“Brilliant!” he beamed. “Emma, this is exactly what you need—something meaningful!”
She stared at him. When had she ever said that?
Victoria leaned in. “There’s a small membership fee—£500 a month. Pocket change for our circle, really.”
Emma nearly choked on her wine. Half her income.
“Peanuts!” James waved dismissively. “Emma, you must join. It’s for the children!”
The rest of the evening blurred. She smiled, nodded, but her mind reeled.
At home, she removed her jewelry in silence.
“So?” James loosened his tie. “Victoria’s impressive, isn’t she? This charity could open doors.”
“Why do I need doors? I have my career.”
“Career?” He laughed. “You sit at home translating manuals. What kind of career is that?”
The words stung. She locked herself in the bathroom, remembering their early days—James a junior manager, her scraping by as a translator. They’d been equals.
Now he saw her as an accessory to his success.
The next morning, Victoria called.
“Emma, let’s talk. I sensed your discomfort last night.”
Over coffee, Victoria confessed: “I was once like you—a corporate accountant. I gave it up for ‘status.’ Now? I regret it. Don’t let them reduce you to just ‘the wife.’”
Emma listened, stunned.
The charity? Real, but the fee was £50. Victoria had tested James’ reaction.
That weekend, at the Roberts’ country home, Emma spoke confidently about her work.
“You know,” Robert mused, “we need a translator for our German clients. Would you consider it?”
James looked startled.
Later, driving home, he was quiet.
“Victoria offered me a consultancy,” Emma said.
“We’ll see,” he muttered.
She studied him. “Do you love me for me? Or for the status I bring?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped.
In bed, Emma lay awake, knowing her answer.
The next morning, she announced: “I’m taking Robert’s offer. And I won’t just be ‘James’ wife.’ I’ll have my own standing.”
He paused at the door. “We’ll figure it out.”
Alone in the kitchen, Emma watched the sunrise, finally excited for the day ahead—not as someone’s plus-one, but as herself.
