Turning Thirty

Turning Thirty

Everyone loved Artie. My friends would complain, wishing their husbands were like Artie. Mr. Perfect, wonderful husband, respected by all, successful businessman providing our glorious lifestyle, whatever we wanted. How lucky I was.

I married Art at twenty-two. My senior year I had a diamond on my left hand, the big wedding right after graduation, excited about our life together, his career and mine. It took me a year to realize I wasn’t to have a career. Yes, I needed to be smart, worldly, capable, but it was to enhance his image, not for me. I rallied, I wanted a family, convincing myself I wanted to be home raising our children. After three years of trying, I found out, quite by accident, that the “problem” of children had been out of the plan even before we married.

I confronted him, but since there was no rational explanation it just got ugly. Still, I thought I could fix things. I was sure my love could make this work. I kept the lie for three more years.

But there’s something about turning thirty. I didn’t realize till it was about to happen to me. People think it’s about losing your youth, you’re not “young” anymore. But that’s not what really happens, the real issue is suddenly you are a grown-up and you look around and see what you’ve done, or let happen.

I spent months using those brains Art required of his wife. Realizing that corporate espionage was best, he’d go to prison, but I wouldn’t lose anything, except him. I even stood by his side until they finally took him away. But of course, divorcing him when I realized the “truth.”

So, now I’m thirty, I’m divorced, and I’m rich. And you know what I’m going to do?
Anything I want.