Chapter 4: Under the Eyes of Society

The polo event was lively. All the ladies and debutantes were there. As soon as I sat down, a friendly woman came over to greet me. Ever since my father lost his job, invites like this never came my way—this was all thanks to Nathaniel’s new status. I felt like a guest in someone else’s dream.

The lawn was a sea of pastel dresses and straw hats, the air filled with laughter and the clatter of hooves. I felt out of place, clutching my purse a little too tightly as Mrs. Liu swooped in, her perfume trailing behind her like a cloud. I tried to smile, but my nerves were buzzing.

Mrs. Liu took my hand like we were old friends, chatting endlessly, mostly about how lucky I was to have married well. I nodded, trying to keep up, my mind elsewhere.

She squeezed my fingers, her voice low and conspiratorial. I nodded along, trying to hide my discomfort behind a polite smile. I wondered what she’d say if she knew the truth.

“Who doesn’t know you’re the apple of Nathan Hayes’s eye?” she said, grinning. The phrase made me blush—was it true? Or just something people said?

She winked at the ladies nearby, and they all giggled, casting sidelong glances my way. I tried to laugh along, but it came out awkward and forced. I felt like an imposter.

Their laughter was light and easy, but I could sense the undercurrent of curiosity—the questions they didn’t dare ask out loud. I kept my smile fixed, hoping no one would see through me.

“After all these years, Nathan still hasn’t taken up with anyone else—he must really love you.”

There was a teasing note in her voice, but also a hint of envy. I ducked my head, wishing I could disappear into the crowd. Was I lucky, or just fooling myself?

I just lowered my eyes and covered my smile with a napkin, pretending to be shy. It was easier than answering.

It was easier to play the part, to let them believe what they wanted to believe. I kept my secrets close, hidden behind a practiced smile.

Mrs. Liu frowned slightly, lowering her voice. “But dear, you really ought to have a child.” Her words stung, but I forced a smile.

Her words landed like a stone in my stomach. I felt every eye in the circle turn toward me, waiting for my answer. My heart thudded in my chest.

My head throbbed. “Maybe it’s just not the right time yet.” I tried to sound breezy, but my voice was thin.

I forced a smile, hoping it would be enough to change the subject. My hands trembled under the table, hidden from view. I prayed they’d move on.

The other ladies started talking about household matters, and the topic drifted away. But my mind wasn’t in it. I felt like I was floating, disconnected from the conversation.

I stared out at the polo field, watching the riders thunder past, their laughter echoing across the grass. My thoughts drifted back to Nathaniel, to the quiet ache that never seemed to leave me. I wondered if anyone else could see it.

Since our marriage, Nathaniel and I had always treated each other with courtesy and distance. In the early days, money was tight. I’d grown up pampered, lazy by habit. Nathaniel would get up at night to do the laundry, cook breakfast in the morning, and leave it on the stove for me to heat up when I woke. As life improved, he never treated me poorly—he handed over all his salary, and on holidays, he’d give me jewelry and clothes. Sometimes I wondered if he did it out of love, or just duty.

I used to watch him from the kitchen doorway, apron tied crookedly around his waist as he flipped pancakes or folded laundry. He never complained, never made me feel like a burden. On Christmas morning, he’d leave a tiny velvet box on my pillow, always with a note that made me smile. I’d tuck those notes away, reading them on lonely afternoons.

But even now, we still hadn’t consummated our marriage. That truth gnawed at me, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.

It was the secret I carried everywhere, tucked away behind every smile and polite conversation. I wondered if people could sense it, if they saw through the façade to the truth I tried so hard to hide. Sometimes I thought they did.

On our wedding night, he just lifted my veil, toasted with the wedding champagne, then sat at the desk reading all night. The candles burned until dawn. I figured he was just anxious about the bar exam. But even after he passed, nothing changed.

I’d watched the flicker of candlelight on his face, the way his eyes never left the page. I waited for him to come to bed, but he never did. Eventually, I drifted off, the sound of turning pages my lullaby. I wondered if he even noticed.

I knew, if my cousin hadn’t married into that Boston family, this marriage never would have fallen to me. So I kept to my place, never daring to hope for more. I told myself it was enough.

Sometimes I’d catch a glimpse of my reflection in the hallway mirror, wondering what my life might have looked like if things had gone differently. But I never let myself dwell on it for long. It hurt too much.

Later, Nathaniel’s aunt started urging us more and more. I wanted a child with Nathaniel too. I secretly consulted many doctors, tried every trick I could think of—herbal teas, old wives’ tales, anything. But Nathaniel just wasn’t interested. He always found a way to avoid the subject.

I’d sit in waiting rooms, clutching pamphlets and prescriptions, my heart pounding with hope and dread. I tried to bring it up gently with Nathaniel, but he always changed the subject, his eyes shuttered and distant. It was like talking to a wall.

The doctors all said I was healthy and could conceive anytime, so I realized it must be Nathaniel. The realization hit me hard—was it my fault for not being enough, or just fate?

I’d never felt so helpless, caught between hope and resignation. Every month, I’d hold my breath, waiting for a miracle that never came. I started to dread the calendar.