David laughed, a sound that made my stomach clench.
‘To be honest,’ David said in Japanese, and I heard the everyday dismissiveness in his tone, “my wife doesn’t really understand the business world. She’s content with her simple life. I make all the important decisions—finances, career planning. She’s just there for appearances. In fact, she maintains the home and looks good at events like this.
‘It’s good for me because I don’t have to worry about a wife who demands too much attention or has her own ambitions that get in my way.’
I gripped the glass so tightly that I thought it might break.
Tanaka said something vague. I noticed his face, saw a flash of something—discomfort, perhaps—but he didn’t speak out against David. Instead, he changed the subject slightly, asking about David’s long-term goals.
‘The vice-president position is almost mine,’ David continued in Japanese. “And after that, I’m looking at the C-suite in five years. I’m advancing carefully, building the right connections.
‘My wife doesn’t know this yet, but I’ve moved some assets by opening offshore accounts. It’s just smart financial planning. If my career requires relocation or major changes, I need the flexibility to move quickly without having to deal with joint accounts and give her the opportunity to sign everything.’
My blood ran cold.
Offshore accounts. Moving assets without notifying me.
I sat there, smiling indifferently, while my husband casually disclosed financial manoeuvres that clearly sounded like he was preparing for a future that did not include me, or at least one where I would not have access to marital funds.
But he hadn’t finished his speech.
Tanaka asked how David coped with the stress of his job, whether there were ways to manage it.
David’s laugh was more ugly this time.
‘I have my outlets,’ he said. “There’s someone at work—Jennifer. She’s in finance. We’ve been seeing each other for about six months. My wife doesn’t know anything about it.
“To be honest, it’s been good for me. Jennifer understands my world, my ambitions. She’s moving forward too. We discuss strategy, make plans. It’s refreshing to come home to someone who can discuss more complex things than ‘what’s for dinner?
I kept myself still.
My face seemed frozen. Inside me was a whole world that was shattering into a thousand pieces. But years of training to remain small, quiet and pleasant kept me in place, keeping a smile on my face and preventing my hands from shaking visibly.
Roman. Offshore accounts. Reducing me to a mere object that supported his lifestyle and looked attractive.
Twelve years of marriage, and that was how he saw me. That was what he said, thinking I couldn’t understand.
Tanaka was definitely uncomfortable now. I could see it in the way he changed the subject, in the way he refocused on business matters. He was too polite to call David out on it, but his answers became shorter and more formal.
Dinner was over.
We said goodbye in the restaurant lobby. Tanaka bowed to me and said in cautious English, ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Sarah. I wish you luck.’
Something in his eyes, a softness, made me wonder if he understood more than he let on. Was he as concerned about David’s words as I was?
The drive home was quiet. David seemed pleased with himself, whistling along to the radio.
‘It went well,’ he said. ‘I think we’ll close this deal. Tanaka seemed impressed.’
‘That’s great,’ I replied, my voice sounding hollow to my own ears.
At home, David kissed me casually on the cheek, said he needed to catch up on emails, and disappeared into his office.
I went upstairs to our bedroom, closed the door, and stood in silence.
Then I took out my phone and did something I never thought I would do.
I called Emma.
Emma was my roommate in college, my best friend before life and distance—and David’s silent disapproval of my friendships—pulled us apart. She became a family lawyer and went through a divorce herself five years ago. We had recently reconnected on social media, exchanged a few messages, but I hadn’t told her anything about my real life.
‘Sarah?’ she answered on the second ring, surprise in her voice. ‘I haven’t heard from you in years!’
‘Emma,’ I said, my voice faltering on the last word. ‘I need a solicitor.’
We talked for two hours.
I told her everything—the dinner, the conversation in Japanese, the offshore accounts, the affair, the years of humiliation and disgust.
She listened without interrupting, her legal mind clearly working on what I was telling her.
‘First,’ she said when I finished, ‘I need you to relax. Can you do that for me?’
I took a slow breath in and out.
‘Second,’ she continued, ‘you need to understand that whatever he’s doing with these offshore accounts may be illegal. It’s definitely unethical. If he’s hiding marital assets in anticipation of a divorce or simply to maintain control, that’s financial fraud. We can use that.’