The post also came with photos of their dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant, a brand-new luxury phone, a screenshot of a bank transfer amounting to a hundred and eighty grand, and Stanley himself, smiling as he offered her a perfectly cut slice of steak.
As I stared at those pictures over and over, my stomach twisted tighter each time.
Ten years together, and he had never bought me a single gift. Not even a small transfer of money.
His excuse was always: “What’s mine is yours. No need to keep transferring back and forth.”
Yet now, with her, his generosity flowed without hesitation, spending hundreds of thousands just like that.
Whenever we ate out, he’d sit back like a king, waiting for me to handle everything before he’d even lift a fork.
He’d also never agreed to take a picture with me. Not even for our wedding portraits.
But Darlene had all of it effortlessly. Everything I’d wanted, everything I’d begged for, she had without lifting a finger.
My vision blurred, and the tears finally spilled over.
Just then, the doorbell rang.
When I opened it, a deliveryman stood there.
“Hello, Ma'am! I’m here to deliver the wedding portraits.”
Confused, I frowned. “I never took wedding portraits.”