“…some of my friends—especially Alex and the others—think you’re kind of, well… boring,” Jenna muttered, eyes avoiding mine. “Not in a bad way. Just not their scene. And I didn’t want it to be awkward for you.”
I felt like the ground slipped under me. Not their scene? I wasn’t flashy or rich enough for her party crowd? After eight years together, five of them married, I was now something to hide?
She continued before I could answer.
“And I didn’t want you to feel out of place. I thought it’d be easier to just not invite you…”
“Easier for who?” I asked. I wasn’t yelling. I didn’t need to. The pain in my voice cut through the noise around us.
Jenna sighed. “Lucas, this party wasn’t about us. It was about letting loose. My friends… they judge, okay? They think we’re mismatched. And I didn’t want to hear any comments or feel embarrassed.”
My jaw tightened. “So instead of standing by me, you stood with them?”
She didn’t answer. Her silence said everything.
I turned and walked out. I didn’t look back.
When I got home, I sat at the kitchen table with the small box in front of me—the one with the diamond earrings inside. A gift I thought would show her how much I cared, how much I saw her. But now, all I could see was what I’d been too blind to acknowledge for too long:
She never truly saw me.
She wanted a provider, a status symbol, someone who could match her image in public. I wanted a partner.
And for the first time in years, I let myself ask the question I’d been avoiding:
Was love ever enough when respect was missing?
