Eight Years of Gilded Cage

It was our eighth wedding anniversary, and my husband, Mark Johnson, wasn't home.

He was celebrating another woman's birthday, as usual.

I sat in the silence of our gilded cage, the emotional wounds from years of neglect and indifference finally festering.

He never hit me, not until tonight, but Chloe's Instagram post-Mark, her, a cake-ignited a rage I couldn't contain.

When he finally stumbled in, past midnight, reeking of her perfume, I confronted him.

"It's our anniversary, Mark."

He sneered, "At least she's fun to be around. She doesn't just sit in the dark waiting to ambush me."