No Room For Your Bitter Regret

This marriage was a transaction from the very beginning.

My family’s firm desperately needed an influx of capital to stay afloat; her family’s corporation was staring down the barrel of a massive lawsuit that only our political connections could make disappear. We were business partners, signing a contract disguised as a marriage license.

Sleeping in separate bedrooms became the unspoken rule. Once, early on, I tentatively asked if she might want me to move my things into the master suite.

She rejected the idea without a second of hesitation. Her reason was simple: "Patrick would mind."