He would joke to his society friends, “She’s my secondhand wife. I picked her up in a consignment shop. Gave her a real life.”
They would laugh, uncomfortable, and look at me with a mix of pity and arrogance. Sorry that I was not their kind. Confident I never would be.
I would smile like a mannequin selling a pretty, used dress. The good wife. The beautiful prize. Always kept in my rightful place by a stand-out narcissist amongst the elite.
That was before. Before I sold him to the highest bidder. A first-class assassin for a high-end husband.
If you would like to join this writing prompt based on the photograph, go to Friday Fictioneers. The challenge is to write a 100-word story with a beginning, middle and end. I did it in 99 words. I hope you enjoyed it. Feedback is always appreciated.