Ryan was standing beside the boarding ramp of our chartered seaplane. He was not alone. Around him was a wall of expensive matching luggage.
To his left stood his parents, Linda and Thomas. Linda wore enough jewelry to glitter in direct sun and had never forgiven me for being independent. In her world, a woman’s value could still be measured by how well she served her husband and kept a house quiet.
And to his right, draped in a designer beach cover-up and holding a flute of complimentary champagne from the dock staff, stood Madison.
Madison was Ryan’s ex. They had supposedly remained “close friends” after our wedding, a story I had accepted because I was too tired to fight and too proud to be dismissed as insecure.
I walked down the pier slowly, my heels striking the wood in sharp, even clicks beneath the hum of the idling engine.
“Ryan,” I said, hearing the confusion and cold dread rising in my own voice. “What is this? Why are your parents here? Why is Madison here?”
He turned toward me, glanced once at my simple linen dress, and sighed like I was the one making things difficult.
“Ava, relax,” he said, smooth and careless, gesturing at the group. “Mom and Dad haven’t taken a real vacation in forever. And Madison’s been through a terrible breakup. She needed to get away for a bit. It’s a six-bedroom villa. There’s plenty of space.”
He had invited his parents and his ex-girlfriend on my anniversary trip. He had not asked. He had not mentioned it. He had simply assumed I would absorb it, pay for it, and behave.
I stared at him, almost unable to process the scale of the entitlement. “This is our anniversary trip, Ryan. It was supposed to be just us.”
Madison lifted her glass and gave me a pitying little smile. “Oh, Ava, don’t be dramatic. It’s a whole private island. We won’t bother you. Besides, Ryan said you’d probably want to stay inside with your work stress anyway.”
Before I could answer, Linda stepped forward, gave me a long look from head to toe, and adjusted her oversized hat with theatrical disdain.
“Honestly, Ava, you should be grateful,” she said, her voice cutting cleanly across the dock. “Ryan deals with your absences all year. The least you can do is let him enjoy time with people who appreciate him. And anyway, it’s his money too. Marriage makes things joint, whether you like it or not.”
She smiled when she said it.
Ryan did not correct her. He did not defend me. Instead he moved closer and lowered his voice, using that familiar tone he saved for manipulation disguised as reason.
“Let’s not ruin this,” he said. “Since the villa’s full, you can handle meals and the house setup while the rest of us enjoy the water. You’re good at logistics. Might be nice for you, actually. A reminder of how to be a wife for once instead of a boss.”
Everything went still.
