The Wife Without Status
Charlotte adjusted her hair in the hallway mirror, giving herself a final critical once-over. The dark blue dress—elegant yet understated—fit perfectly. Her low heels and matching clutch completed the look. Everything was just right for meeting her husband’s colleagues.
“Daniel, I’m ready!” she called toward the study.
“Coming, coming!” he replied, but the murmur of his phone conversation suggested he wasn’t.
She sighed. They’d be late again. And she’d tried so hard to make a good impression on these people—his new team at the firm. Three months since he’d been promoted to deputy director, and every corporate event still left her uneasy.
“Lottie, listen,” Daniel finally appeared, fastening his jacket on the move. “Simon Harrington and his wife will be there—remember him? He’s key to this project. Try to connect with his wife, yeah?”
“Of course,” she nodded. “What does she do?”
“Dunno. Stays at home, probably. Some charity work, I think. Just chat with her, you’ll figure it out.”
His tone was distracted, already mentally elsewhere. Charlotte bit back further questions.
The restaurant was dimly lit, soft music humming beneath the chatter. A large table was already half-full. Daniel immediately joined the men, leaving Charlotte to navigate the wives alone.
“You must be Charlotte?” An elegant woman in her fifties extended a manicured hand. “I’m Eleanor, Simon’s wife. Daniel’s told us about you.”
“Lovely to meet you,” Charlotte replied. “Good things, I hope?”
“Oh, the usual. That you’re wonderfully supportive,” Eleanor smiled, but her gaze was appraising.
Charlotte sat, tension pricking her shoulders. The other women—all polished, all wealthy—exchanged stories about children’s boarding schools and holidays in the Maldives.
“And what do you do, Charlotte?” asked a sharp-featured brunette named Anne.
“I’m a translator. Freelance, mostly technical manuals.”
“How fascinating,” Eleanor said, though her tone suggested otherwise. “Which languages?”
“French and German.”
“I see. Any children?”
“Not yet,” Charlotte flushed. The question always stung.
“Oh, plenty of time!” a plump blonde chimed in. “I’ve three—all grown now. The eldest is in finance, works in New York.”
The conversation rolled on—school fees, summer homes, designer sales. Charlotte smiled politely, increasingly alien.
“And your firm, Charlotte?” Anne asked suddenly. “Who do you translate for?”
“Various clients. I work independently.”
“Ah, freelance.” Anne nodded. “Must be flexible, working from home. Though the income’s unstable, I imagine?”
“It’s steady enough,” Charlotte replied, sharper than intended.
“Of course,” Eleanor’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “We’ve started a charity foundation—helping underprivileged schools. You should join us.”
“I’ll consider it,” Charlotte said carefully.
“It does require commitment, mind. Regular events, meetings. All of us here have the time—our husbands provide well.”
The implication was clear: she didn’t belong. A working wife wasn’t a proper wife at all.
“Having fun, darling?” Daniel appeared, hand on her shoulder.
“Wonderful,” she forced a smile.
“Daniel, your wife’s delightful!” Eleanor trilled. “We’re recruiting her for the foundation.”
“Brilliant!” He beamed. “Lottie, this is perfect—you’ve wanted to give back!”
Charlotte stared. She’d said no such thing.
“There’s just the small membership fee,” Eleanor added. “Five thousand a month. Peanuts, really.”
Charlotte nearly choked on her wine. Half her monthly earnings, dismissed as spareThe words stung, but as she glanced at Daniel’s oblivious smile, Charlotte realized she’d rather fight for her place at the table than buy her way into it.
