“You’d ruin everything”: For years, my husband hid that wives were allowed at work parties
You’d think there shouldn’t be secrets in a marriage. Especially the pointless ones. But my husband lied to me for years—coldly, confidently, almost casually. He claimed his company had a strict “no spouses” policy at their parties. Supposedly, that was just the way things were. I believed him. Didn’t press the issue, either. I was never one for loud gatherings, and after our son was born, I settled into the quiet rhythm of home life.
Then the truth came out. And it didn’t just hurt—it made me feel like a stranger in my own marriage.
James and I have been married just five years. I got pregnant soon after the wedding, and our son is now four. The years flew by—nappies, sleepless nights, doctor’s visits. I went back to work as soon as I could. With help from the grandparents, money wasn’t as tight. I try to get home early, to be there for our boy. But James… he’s out later and later, sometimes stumbling in at dawn, bleary-eyed, muttering about “crunch time” at work.
Three years ago, he landed a job at a prestigious firm. Better position, double the salary. No more complaints about his boss or colleagues. Just one thing bothered me: he never once invited me to a work do. Not the summer picnic, not the Christmas bash. Always the same excuse: “It’s not the done thing. Wives don’t come. Nothing personal.”
I believed him. Wanted to believe him. If he’d really been hiding something, wouldn’t he have just avoided the topic? This felt like honesty. Besides, who had time for parties? My friends—some married, some single—were caught up in their own lives. We barely spoke anymore. I was exhausted. Weekends were just laundry, meals, nursery runs, doctor’s appointments.
Then I ran into an old schoolmate—Emily—at the chemist’s. We chatted over coffee, catching up. Turns out her husband works at the same company as James. Small world, we laughed. I suggested meeting up Friday.
“Can’t,” she said. “Got the work do with my husband.”
I blinked. “You’re going?”
“Yeah, of course. Everyone brings their partner.”
Suddenly, I felt ice in my veins. I played along, pretended I knew, mumbled something about being busy—but inside, everything shattered. So he’d lied. For years. I walked home in a daze. Not about the party itself. About the lie. The awful thought: he’s ashamed of me.
That evening, over supper, I kept my voice steady.
“Funny thing—Emily’s going to your work party with her husband. Says it’s normal there.”
He froze. Glanced at me sideways. Then busied himself with his tea, fiddling with a napkin, avoiding my eyes.
“Well… that’s for the new lot. They make exceptions. The rest of us have known each other for ages.”
“But you never invited me. Three years isn’t ‘new.’”
He sighed, stared at the wall, and dropped it:
“I just wanted a night off. No couples. No ‘how’s the family’ chat. No sober bloke getting side-eyed by his wife. I’m knackered. Wanted to let loose.”
It hit me like a slap. So I’m the problem. With others, he can be himself—with me, he can’t. Am I ugly? Boring? Bad company? Or does he just think I’ll spoil his fun?
The lie hurt, but this truth, after years, was like a fist to the chest. I didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Just decided: fine. Next week, my office party? I’m going alone. Dressing up. Laughing, chatting, dancing.
Maybe not the perfect solution. But he’ll learn this: you don’t treat your wife like that. Not the one in a nice dress at a party, not the one holding a sick child at 3 a.m. We’re not enemies. But right now, I feel like a stranger. And strangers don’t get invitations.
