Eventually, even the people who knew the company’s history began following his lead and referring to me only as Ivan’s wife.
I allowed it because correcting them would have meant admitting what our marriage had become.
Silence was easier than humiliation.
Ivan mistook that silence for surrender.
Around the patio, phones began to rise.
Not everyone had recorded the moment when he forced my hand onto the grill, but several guests were recording now.
One of Ivan’s executives lowered his drink and stared at the angry red marks spreading across my palm.
He had laughed when Cynthia told me to serve my husband.
He was not laughing anymore.
Another guest, a broad-shouldered neighbor who had spent most of the afternoon discussing golf with Ivan, stepped between us.
He did not touch Ivan.
He simply placed himself in the path Ivan would have to take if he tried to grab me again.
