In the middle of a dinner with friends, my husband raised his glass and, with a cruel smile, said, “I only married her out of pity. Nobody else wanted her.”

That night we were having dinner at an upscale restaurant in downtown Chicago with three other couples who had been part of our social circle for years.

We had gathered to celebrate Victor’s recent promotion at the logistics company where he worked, which he had talked about for months with pride.

I had reserved the table days in advance, paid the deposit myself, and chosen the place because he liked their red wine and slow roasted pork.

Everything felt normal at first, and the first forty minutes were even pleasant enough to almost forget the tension that always followed him.

Rachel talked about renovating her apartment, Kevin proudly showed photos of his new hybrid car, and I tried to stay engaged while thinking about the debt we still carried from Victor’s failed business that I had quietly covered with my savings.

He was drinking faster than usual, and I knew from experience that it never led anywhere good.

When the main courses arrived, Brian made a harmless joke about who had been luckiest in marriage, and everyone laughed lightly as the conversation flowed.