Chapter 6 - A Hundred Wives
Julian apologized three weeks later.
His first attempt was terrible.
“I shouldn’t have said what I said.”
I waited.
He frowned.
“What?”
“You know what.”
He sighed.
“I shouldn’t have embarrassed you.”
“That’s not the whole problem.”
“I was angry.”
“So?”
He looked frustrated.
“You want me to repeat the sentence?”
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened.
Then he said it.
“I told you I could have a hundred wives but only one mother.”
“How many wives do you have?”
“One.”
“And how were you treating her?”
He looked down.
That was better.
We were sitting at the black marble dining table again.
No chandelier lit this time.
Morning sunlight filled the room.
Eleanor had moved out two days earlier.
Not dramatically.
I gave her time.
She found a smaller rental apartment and began working with a financial adviser recommended by neither Julian nor me.
That mattered.
Julian had stopped giving her his entire paycheck.
He set a monthly amount he could afford after his own obligations.
Eleanor hated it.
Then accepted it.
His brother did the same.
The world did not end.
Julian’s apology continued.
“I thought supporting Mom proved I was a good son.”
“It can.”
“I thought questioning her was disrespectful.”
“It isn’t.”
“I thought you would always cover whatever I didn’t.”
There it was.
“And why did you think that?”
“Because you always did.”
Painful.
Fair.
I had participated in the arrangement.
Every time Julian failed to transfer his share, I covered it without consequence.
Every time Eleanor overstepped, I chose peace.
Every time Julian called the penthouse his, I ignored it.
Silence did not cause his entitlement.
But it gave it room.
“Are you leaving me?” he asked.
I looked at him.
“I haven’t decided.”
He nodded slowly.
That answer frightened him more than anger.
For the next three months, Julian and I lived separately inside the penthouse.
Different bedrooms.
Separate schedules.
Marriage counseling once a week.
No promises.
I expected him to perform change briefly until I softened.
Instead, he struggled.
Real change is less attractive than apologies.
It meant saying no to Eleanor and surviving her disappointment.
It meant opening every household bill.
Transferring his share without reminders.
Learning what our insurance cost.
Discovering that the cleaning service did not magically appear.
And confronting the belief underneath his sentence about a hundred wives.
His therapist eventually named it.
Julian had treated his mother as permanent and his wife as conditional.
Therefore Eleanor could demand endlessly.
I had to keep earning my place.
When I told him that, he cried.
Not dramatically.
Quietly.
“I sound like my father.”
I knew almost nothing about Julian’s father.
That changed in therapy.
His father had cheated repeatedly.
Every time Eleanor threatened to leave, he told her she was replaceable.
But he also told Julian that a son’s first duty was always to his mother.
Julian grew up hating his father’s infidelity while absorbing the same hierarchy.
Mother sacred.
Wife replaceable.
He had repeated the philosophy without repeating the affairs.
Understanding that did not erase what happened.
But it finally gave us something real to work on.
Months later, during a counseling session, Julian said:
“I don’t want a hundred wives.”
I looked at him.
“I know.”
“I want the one I almost drove away.”
“That’s not enough.”
May you like
“I know that too.”
For the first time, he did.
