I used to think the phrase “work wife” was harmless. A cute little corporate joke. An exaggeration, at best. But after a year of hearing my husband, Chris, throw the term around like confetti at a wedding, I wasn’t laughing anymore.<\/p>\n
Emily. Emily this, Emily that.<\/p>\n
Emily knows the best lunch spots.<\/p>\n
Emily keeps him so organized.<\/p>\n
Emily understands the stress of his job in a way that I just couldn’t.<\/p>\n
Oh, and my favorite line?<\/p>\n
“She’s like my other half at work.”<\/p>\n
Yeah. That one nearly got him a shoe thrown at his head.<\/p>\n
The night I realized that this wasn’t a harmless thing, I was making dinner. I was making truffle risotto with seared scallops. It was one of Chris’s favorites, the kind of meal that made his eyes light up.<\/p>\n
“God, Sabine,” he would say. “I don’t deserve you.”<\/p>\n
I wanted to surprise him after another long workday. Honestly, all I wanted to do was have a good meal with my husband, maybe drink a glass or two of red wine, and cuddle with him.<\/p>\n
That was it.<\/p>\n
But he didn’t come home in time for dinner.<\/p>\n
I was lounging on the couch, trying to find something to watch on TV when my phone lit up.<\/p>\n
Running late. You don’t have to wait up.<\/p>\n
No apology. No explanation.<\/p>\n
I stared at the screen, something heavy settling in my chest.<\/p>\n
“Well, there goes our dinner,” I said.<\/p>\n
I dragged myself to bed, not even bothering with cleaning the kitchen. Chris could do that tomorrow morning. I was done trying to care for him now.<\/p>\n
I put my phone down, then picked it up again. Nothing like a good scroll through the socials before I fell asleep. I opened Instagram, and while I knew that Chris rarely posted, I wanted to check on something…<\/p>\n
So, I went to Emily’s stories.<\/p>\n
There was a blurry Boomerang of two wine glasses clinking.<\/p>\n
Much needed after today!<\/p>\n
Then there was a wide shot of a restaurant, dim and intimate, candlelight flickering against wine glasses. And there, in the background of one photo, was Chris.<\/p>\n
Laughing.<\/p>\n
“What the hell, Chris?!” I shouted, sending a pillow flying to the ground.<\/p>\n
That was our restaurant. The one we went to for anniversaries, for birthdays, for special us moments.<\/p>\n
And now he was there, with her.<\/p>\n
I stared at the photo, the lingering smell of the risotto, the scent of butter and garlic thick in the air… my stomach turned.<\/p>\n
I wasn’t mad.<\/p>\n
Not yet.<\/p>\n
But I was something else. It was something quieter. Something heavy. Something that seemed to take root in my stomach and twist itself all along my insides.<\/p>\n
I tried to picture the version of me from two years ago, the Sabine who wouldn’t have overthought this, who would’ve rolled her eyes and laughed it off.<\/p>\n
But that version of me hadn’t been slowly pushed out of her own marriage yet.<\/p>\n
That version of me hadn’t spent months feeling like an outsider in her own home.<\/p>\n
And now, that version of me was gone.<\/p>\n
The next morning, I woke to a spotless kitchen and the coffee machine ready and waiting to pour me a cup. Chris was gone.<\/p>\n
“Nice try,” I muttered, getting a cup all the same.<\/p>\n
I had heard him come in last night. I didn’t care enough to open my eyes. Instead, I just pretended that I was sleeping. When he kissed my cheek, I had to hold myself together to not kick him off the bed.<\/p>\n
I was done.<\/p>\n
Months passed without any explanation about Chris just skipping dinner that night. We spoke, but barely. There were hardly any romantic advances.<\/p>\n
And you know what?<\/p>\n
I was fine with that.<\/p>\n
But then, when Chris was away on a business trip, I got a card in the mail. Naturally, I thought it was sweet and romantic. I thought that my husband was trying to get back in my good books. That he was finally seeing the cracks in our marriage.<\/p>\n
That he missed me.<\/p>\n
Sweet, right?<\/p>\n
Wrong.<\/p>\n
Happy Valentine’s Day to My Amazing Wife!<\/p>\n
This year, I wanted to make our celebration extra special, so I invited Emily, my work wife, to join us for dinner! You two are the most important women in my life, and it just feels right to celebrate together.<\/p>\n
I can’t wait for us to bond over dessert!<\/p>\n
-Chris<\/p>\n
I read it three times. Then once more, just to confirm my husband had indeed lost his entire mind.<\/p>\n
He wanted me, his actual, legal wife, to share Valentine’s dinner with his work wife.<\/p>\n
The audacity. The gall. The absolute lack of basic decency.<\/p>\n
I saw red. But instead of exploding, I had a thought. A beautifully petty, deliciously wicked thought.<\/p>\n
Of course, I was going to act on it.<\/p>\n
Two can play at this game, sure. I was just going to play it better.<\/p>\n
The restaurant was dimly lit, the kind of place with overpriced entr\u00e9es and tiny portions that made you feel stupid for spending a mortgage payment on dinner.<\/p>\n
It was… unexpected. But I supposed it made sense. Chris had already taken Emily to our restaurant, so it made sense that he wanted to go all out for his next dinner with Emily.<\/p>\n
Chris had chosen it for the special occasion.<\/p>\n
I arrived right on time. And do you know what?<\/p>\n
I wasn’t alone.<\/p>\n
Mark walked beside me, all confident charm and easy grins. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and effortlessly attractive. He looked every bit the devoted home husband I needed him to be.<\/p>\n
Look, I know the term is stupid, and kind of insane. But I wanted to teach my husband a lesson.<\/p>\n
Chris, already seated at the table with Emily, glanced up and froze. His eyes flicked between me and Mark, his expression a kaleidoscope of confusion, disbelief, and something else… something deliciously close to panic.<\/p>\n
“Who… who is this, Sabine?” he asked, standing too quickly.<\/p>\n
His chair scraped against the floor, disrupting the soft jazz playing from the speakers above.<\/p>\n
“Oh, I’m sorry, Chris,” I said. “I forgot that you hadn’t met Mark.”<\/p>\n
“Mark?”<\/p>\n
“Yeah! My home husband…”<\/p>\n
Emily’s wine glass paused halfway to her lips.<\/p>\n
“Your what? What the hell does that even mean?”<\/p>\n
“My home husband,” I repeated, settling into my chair like I hadn’t just detonated a social grenade. “I’m always working solo at work, but Mark sits in the office next to mine. We don’t need work spouses, given our jobs. But when you’re away at work or traveling, Chris, Mark fixes things around the house. He helps with errands, he listens to me vent when you’re too busy for me. It just makes sense, don’t you think?”<\/p>\n
Chris’s mouth opened. Then closed.<\/p>\n
Emily shifted uncomfortably.<\/p>\n
Mark, bless him, extended a hand across the table.<\/p>\n
“Hey, man,” he said. “Nice to finally meet you.”<\/p>\n
Chris ignored it.<\/p>\n
“This is ridiculous.”<\/p>\n
I tilted my head, the candlelight bouncing off my earrings. I knew I looked beautiful and innocent.<\/p>\n
“Oh? But you were so excited for us to bond with Emily tonight. I figured that it was only fair for you to bond with Mark. You know?”<\/p>\n
“That\u2019s not the same thing,” he snapped, his jaw clenched.<\/p>\n
I sighed dramatically, picking up my menu.<\/p>\n
“I think it is,” I said. “Mark and I have gotten so close lately, haven’t we?”<\/p>\n
I nudged his arm, and he beamed. Mark was always one for theatrics.<\/p>\n
And to be honest, we did work together. Mark was responsible for writing all the newspaper’s entertainment articles, while I had all the food articles.<\/p>\n
We worked well. When I asked him to do this charade with me, he was more than excited.<\/p>\n
“I’m single anyway, Sab,” he laughed when I asked him. “I have absolutely no plans.”<\/p>\n
“Absolutely,” he said now, to my husband. “I mean, after all that late-night texting and calls and running errands together, how could we not be?”<\/p>\n
Chris’s eye twitched.<\/p>\n
Emily, suddenly very interested in her napkin, mumbled to herself.<\/p>\n
“I, uh, I think I need another drink.”<\/p>\n
“I’ll order us another round,” Chris said. “But then we really should order some food.”<\/p>\n
“So, Emily, how does the whole work marriage thing actually work? Do you guys have, like, an anniversary or something?” Mark asked, raising an eyebrow.<\/p>\n
Emily choked on her own saliva.<\/p>\n
Chris glared at me, his patience evaporating like cheap cologne.<\/p>\n
“Okay, I get it, Sabine,” he said. “You’ve made your point. Can we please just move on?”<\/p>\n
I leaned back, smiling sweetly.<\/p>\n
“Oh, I don’t know. I think this was very enlightening, honey,” I said. “I don’t know how this kind of thing works.”<\/p>\n
I ordered dinner for Mark and me.<\/p>\n
“Order, darling,” I told Chris. “I’m sure you and Emily know each other’s favorites by now. Don’t you agree, Emily?”<\/p>\n
Emily, suddenly fascinated by the tablecloth, muttered, “I should probably get going.”<\/p>\n
Then she grabbed her purse, and she practically fled.<\/p>\n
Chris turned back to me, his jaw so tight I thought his teeth might crack.<\/p>\n
“Are you serious right now? Really, Sabine? You just had to chase her away?”<\/p>\n
“I did no such thing,” I said, breaking a breadstick. “This has been such a great night. We should make this an annual thing, don’t you think?”<\/p>\n
My husband didn’t respond. His silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. And that’s when I saw it.<\/p>\n
Realization.<\/p>\n
For the first time, he got it.<\/p>\n
The second we got into the car, Chris exhaled sharply.<\/p>\n
“Okay, you win,” he said.<\/p>\n
“Win what? What are you talking about?”<\/p>\n
He shot me a look.<\/p>\n
“You know what, Sabine,” he said. “Look, I know I messed up. I should have listened to you months ago when you said that it made you uncomfortable. I just thought it was harmless.”<\/p>\n
I didn’t say anything.<\/p>\n
His voice softened.<\/p>\n
“I wouldn’t like it if the roles were reversed. Like tonight… with Mark.”<\/p>\n
“No,” I agreed. “You wouldn’t.”<\/p>\n
Silence.<\/p>\n
“But you and Mark? Are…”<\/p>\n
“There’s nothing going on between us, Chris,” I said. “We just work together. And you met him at an office Christmas party a long time ago. I’m surprised you didn’t remember.”<\/p>\n
More silence.<\/p>\n
“I won’t call her that, Sabine. Not anymore. I’ll set boundaries, I promise you.”<\/p>\n
I studied him for a long moment as he drove. He looked tired. Maybe even a little embarrassed.<\/p>\n
Good.<\/p>\n
“We’ll see, Chris,” I said finally, turning toward the window. “Actions speak louder than words. I need you to change, Chris. I need you to prove that you care enough to mend us.”<\/p>\n
And just like that, Valentine’s Day became very memorable.<\/p>\n
Since then, Chris has been bending over backward to make it up to me. There have been thoughtful texts. Surprise gifts, even. Random just because date nights. It’s like he was trying to relearn how to be a husband.<\/p>\n
Emily?<\/p>\n
She’s been keeping her distance.<\/p>\n
And Mark?<\/p>\n
Well, let’s just say I owe him one hell of a thank-you dinner.<\/p>\n
And I’m just enjoying being fussed over.<\/p>\n
:<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I used to think the phrase “work wife” was harmless. A cute little corporate joke. An exaggeration, at best. But after a year of hearing my husband, Chris, throw the term around like confetti at a wedding, I wasn’t laughing anymore. Emily. Emily this, Emily that. Emily knows the best lunch spots. Emily keeps him […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":5,"featured_media":7466,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-7465","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-tales"],"yoast_head":"\n