I knew the scar on his left knee came from crashing his bicycle at fourteen.
I knew he hated mayonnaise because his mother once packed it in his school lunch during a heat wave.
I knew he had failed his first driving test.
I knew he secretly cried at our daughter’s graduation even though he denied it.
I knew he slept better on the left side of the bed.
I knew which brother he called first when something went wrong.
I knew the stories that embarrassed him.
The relatives he avoided.
The mistakes he regretted.
Or so I thought.
His brothers kept making that joke.
“Anything for the second wife.”
At Christmas.
At barbecues.
On vacations.
Once, Daniel surprised me with tickets to a show for our anniversary.
Mark looked at the tickets and laughed.
“Wow. Second wife really gets the deluxe package.”
That time, I looked at Daniel.
He was smiling.
But there was something strange around his eyes.
A tightness.
It lasted maybe two seconds.
Then he shoved Mark playfully and said:
“Jealous because nobody can stand you long enough to marry you?”
Everyone laughed.
The moment disappeared.
I convinced myself I had imagined it.
That became easy.
I ignored the joke because everyone else treated it like a joke.
I ignored the way Daniel’s mother sometimes became quiet when his brothers said it.
I ignored the fact that nobody had ever actually explained why I was supposedly second.
It was easier to believe there was nothing to explain.
Then Daniel turned fifty-five.
We went to dinner with his family.
Our children came.
His mother came.
All three brothers and their wives were there.
Daniel chose his favorite steakhouse.
Dark wood.
Dim lights.
Enormous plates.
The kind of place where everyone complains they’re too full and then orders dessert anyway.
Daniel was in a good mood.
I remember watching him while everyone sang “Happy Birthday.”
He hated being the center of attention.
He sat there with the same embarrassed smile I’d seen every birthday since we met.
Our daughter was filming him.
Our son kept trying to push the cake closer to his face.
Daniel’s mother was laughing.
For a moment, I remember thinking:
This is my life.
Twenty-two years of marriage.
Two children.
A husband I still loved.Try Marriage Counseling
A family I knew completely.
I felt lucky.
Then Mark made the joke.
