The room fell silent.
My husband stared at his plate. Ryan looked away. Suddenly, everyone seemed afraid to answer.
I laughed nervously and asked, “After all these years, nobody’s going to tell me?”
His wife looked stunned. “You really don’t know?”
My husband quickly interrupted. “There’s no story.”
But something in his voice made my heart sink. I looked at him and quietly said, “Then tell me.”
He refused.
For the first time, I felt like an outsider among people I had known for years. I had shared so many memories with them, yet they were hiding something about me.
I finally turned to Ryan and said, “If you can call me Butter, you can tell me what it means.”
Then Ben, one of my husband’s oldest friends, sighed.
“Man, you should’ve told her years ago.”
My husband’s face changed.
Ben explained that it all began the night my husband first showed them my picture.
