Because of a Dog, I Married My Husband

The dog I'd raised for eight years was dying. The surgery was thirty-five hundred dollars.

My husband, Burton Gilbert, tossed the payment slip aside.

It's just an animal. Buy another one and be done with it. Why throw money away.

He turned and told the attending vet to stop treatment. Put the dog down instead.

That afternoon I got the call from the clinic to come collect the body, and I fell apart.

Burton only said,

"A mutt like that's worth nothing. I'll get you a new one later."

Three days after that, his secretary Shelagh Henson's cat got fixed.

He booked a VIP recovery room, had cases of imported cans hauled in, dropped nearly a thousand dollars start to finish.

Burton posted a grid of nine photos on his feed, captioned,

"Fur babies deserve to be spoiled."

In the pictures Shelagh held the big orange cat while he carefully offered it water beside her, gentle as a completely different man.

I scrolled through those nine photos, then looked down at the small stiff body in my arms.

And suddenly I understood what worth nothing meant.

...

On my phone, under Secretary Henson's post, Burton was still replying, eager as anything.

"Keep him warm after the surgery. Soak the cans in warm water first."

"No need to thank me. I did claim the big orange as my godson."

I swiped past them one by one, my eyes dry and aching.

What kept flashing through my head was the way he'd frowned when he heard the treatment cost.

"Thirty-five hundred is enough for three purebreds."

He hadn't even looked up then, thumbing at his phone.

"It's just an animal. Raise another one and be done. You really have to fight me over money?"

And now here he was, calling somebody else's cat his godson, one breath after another.

Pouring his heart out, throwing money around, all but tattooing spoil them across his forehead for the world to see.

That night, as Burton's wife, I went with him to the company party.

"Victoria Gutierrez."

A young woman's voice drifted over from the side.

I turned. His secretary, Shelagh Henson, was coming toward me, the freshly neutered orange cat cradled in her arms.

"Mr. Gilbert really is so good to him," she said.

Her voice was sweet to the point of cloying. She dipped her head and nuzzled the cat.

"He booked Little Orange a VIP room, post-op care, imported cans, even picked out the blanket himself. He said his godson getting fixed was a big deal, no cutting corners."

Then she looked up and gave Burton a sugary little smile.

"Right, Godpapa? You're so good to our boy."

I thought back to when I'd tried to pay the dog's bill, and the look on his face while he blocked me, saying an animal wasn't worth it.

Now the money was going to somebody else's cat, and he hadn't blinked.

I heard myself laugh, once.

"He does make a pretty decent godfather."

A male coworker sidled over and clapped Burton on the shoulder.

"Burton, if you're this devoted to a godson, your own kid's going to be spoiled rotten someday, huh?"

Then he turned to me, grinning wide.

"When are you two having a baby? Burton'll be even more generous then, bet on it!"

Every eye in the room swung to me at once.

Burton didn't answer. He just lifted his drink, took a sip, and gave me one flat look.

That old irritation in it.

He probably figured I was about to start sulking again, feeling sorry for myself, or using the moment to ask him for something.

But this time, I said it calmly.

"We'll see how it goes."

The truth was, I'd always wanted a child.

When we married we had no money. No wedding, we just got the marriage license.

That night, drunk, he'd held me and said,

"Once the project wraps next year, let's go somewhere, take our time, do the honeymoon we missed."

But after that the projects came one after another, and the honeymoon got pushed back year after year.

Something about it struck Burton as odd, but he didn't dwell on it. He shifted his attention back to the cat, tickling it under the chin.

"Our boy's recovering nicely today, isn't he? Let Godpapa have a look..."

He pinched a paw and gave it a gentle little shake.

"Mm. Plenty of energy."

Shelagh nudged the cat closer to his hand.

"Of course. With his godpapa doting on him, how could our boy not bounce right back?"

Burton smiled and drew his hand back. Then, as if something had just occurred to him, he spoke with a pointed edge.

"A cat turns out well because the person raising it turns out well."

"Not like some people..."

His voice dropped.

"Ready to die over a dog. Thirty-five hundred, just like that. Did you ever think about this household? I was saving you money and you turned on me over it."

Shelagh, holding the cat, let the corner of her mouth curve up a fraction.

"Mr. Gilbert, don't say that. Victoria was just close to the dog. Only natural she couldn't take it for a bit."

"Close to it?"

Burton scoffed.

"Being close to it means you get to ignore your family? I made the call for her and she thinks I'm cold-blooded. The dog's gone and she's living just fine, isn't she?"

A few of the coworkers nearby nodded along.

"Burton's right. Running a household, you spend where it counts."

"Exactly, exactly. Don't blame Burton, he was looking out for your family too."

Everyone was waiting for me to speak, watching to see whether I'd argue with red eyes or bow my head and back down.

No one had asked how I felt.

I drew a slow breath and, ignoring the startled looks, walked out of the hall.

Behind me came Shelagh's soft little cry.

"Oh no, Mr. Gilbert, did I say something wrong and upset Victoria?"

By the time I reached the elevator, Burton had caught up.

He grabbed my shoulder and forced me to turn and face him.

"Victoria, are you done making a scene?"

He stared at me, brows knotted together.

"This is a public event, not home! That room is full of my staff and business partners, and you just walk out like that. Do you have any idea how bad that makes me look?"

I said nothing and reached up to press the call button.

He caught my hand and pushed it back down, forcing me to look up at him.

The white ceiling lights poured down, and that face I'd lived beside for three years looked like a stranger's now.

"Burton, do you still remember last year, when my grandmother was in the hospital?"

A blank look crossed his face.

"The deposit was three thousand dollars. I came to talk it over with you, and you said didn't my grandmother get a pension every month, so let her figure it out herself first."

"In the end I scraped that money together from a friend. She was in the hospital over two weeks, and you went twice. The first time you stood there five minutes, took a phone call, and left."

"The second time you dropped a case of milk by her bed and left before you even sat down, saying you had a meeting at the company."

"But when Shelagh got sick, you pushed back all three of your afternoon meetings and sat outside the exam room waiting two hours for her."

The more I said, the more it hurt, until I was close to tears.

"So who's actually your family?"

Burton's brow drew tighter and tighter, and he said impatiently,

"You're dragging up all this ancient history now? Shelagh's a young woman alone in New York with no family, no one to lean on. I'm her boss, I look out for her a little on the side, what's wrong with that?"

"And that thing with your grandmother, you never made it clear how urgent it was"

"I didn't make it clear?"

I cut him off, furious.

"I was crying on the phone telling you. You said what's the big deal, why are you crying like this, and you hung up before I could get out a second sentence."

"Later my grandmother paid the surgery bill out of her own retirement savings, and when you found out, all you said was, well, there you go, then. You didn't ask a single word about how she was recovering."

His face darkened.

"Burton, I told you every single one of these things. You just never let a word of it in."

He fell silent.

A few seconds later he pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and opened my message thread.

"Money's transferred to you."

His voice was ice cold.

"Your grandmother, your dog, whatever's missing I'll make up. Ask me if it's not enough."

The screen glowed, one transfer sitting quietly in the chat history.

I stared at it and thought how absurd it was.

I'd said all of that, and all he heard was money.

Three years of marriage, and he had never once cared what I actually needed.

Then his phone buzzed.

Burton glanced down at the screen, and his tone turned gentle the moment he answered.

"Shelagh? What's wrong okay, I'll come take a look"

He hung up and turned his head toward me.

"Think about what you did. Stop making a scene."

He walked off without looking back.

The elevator doors reflected my tear-streaked face.

I looked down at that transfer.

Seven thousand.

Crying, I tapped return.

The elevator arrived, the doors opened, and I stepped inside.

I got home. Before I could even set my bag down, my phone lit up.

Shelagh had sent an audio clip.

It was a recording of her call with Burton from the day I took the dog to the hospital.

The two of them, back and forth, question and answer.

"Mr. Gilbert, what's wrong with your dog?"

"Nothing. Just a minor illness."

"Victoria must be worried sick, huh?"

"Let her worry. I already signed off on putting it down. She'll cry for a couple days and get over it."

"You're kind of ruthless..."

"Seven grand could go toward a lot of things. Oh, right, did you book your cat's checkup yet? I already set it up for you. The full panel plus a cardiac ultrasound. I'll cover it, don't skimp."

"Oh no, there's really no need..."

"Don't stand on ceremony with me. Your little fur baby matters."

I sat there listening to those familiar voices, frozen.

So the day he told me I'd made the decision for you, the very next thing he did was book a full checkup for someone else's cat.

So while he was telling me it's just an animal, don't waste money, what he was typing into that chat was your little fur baby matters.

I clicked into Shelagh's feed without thinking.

The newest post was a video: the cat lying across Burton's lap, his head bent as he tied a little bow tie on it, a smile on the side of his face.

The caption read:

Mr. Gilbert refused to leave until he got a bow tie on Tangerine. There was no stopping him. All I can say is, cat daddy really loves her.

Someone in the comments had asked:

"Your boss treats your cat better than he treats you, doesn't he?"

She'd replied:

"Being good to the cat is being good to me."

I turned my phone off.

I stood up, went into the bedroom, and pulled open the closet to start packing.

While I was packing, I found a red velvet box.

I opened it. A pair of gold rings.

I'd saved half a year of my salary and ordered them in secret, planning to bring them out on his birthday, to replace the plain silver bands he'd carelessly bought back when we got married.

I'd even imagined the look on his face when he saw them.

Maybe moved. Maybe crying. Maybe so overcome he'd slip his on right there.

Now I looked at the box, ran my fingers over the velvet, and suddenly thought:

Whether he even deserved to wear these rings of mine.

It was deep into the night before he came home.

He came into the room without much sound, walked over, and sat down beside me.

"Today was my fault." Tenderness, rare from him.

"I shouldn't have talked to you like that in front of a coworker."

He reached out to take my hand. I flinched back and didn't let him touch me.

"Come on, don't be angry, okay? Tomorrow's the weekend. I'll take you to that place you've been wanting to go for dinner, and we'll talk it through."

I looked at his slightly bowed head, a few white hairs standing out under the light.

Then I took out the velvet box, opened the lid, and held it out in front of him.

"Burton, I ordered a pair of rings. I was going to give them to you on your birthday."

He raised his head, his eyes landing on the two rings in the box.

He looked for several seconds, then reached out, picked one up, and turned it over.

Inside, I'd had the jeweler engrave our initials to match my own handwriting.

He put the ring back in the box and pushed it aside.

"Return them," he said. Not even a pause in his voice.

I stared at the box shoved to one side, my mind blank.

"What did you say?"

"I said return them. What are you spending money on this for?" He rubbed his temples, his voice turning irritated all at once.

"We've been married this long, so what are you dragging out rings for? It's not like we don't have any to wear."

"I saved for half a year..."

"Half a year?" He let out a short laugh.

"You spent half a year's money on this and didn't say a word to me? Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to earn money now, and here you are wasting it on useless things like this."

Something went sour in my nose. I suddenly remembered our wedding night, how he'd held me, drunk, and said,

"Victoria, I'll be good to you for the rest of my life."

That night the fireworks had gone off outside the window at just the right moment, lighting up his eyes.

And now, three years later, my heart's intention had become the most useless thing in the world to him.

Maybe he felt he'd been too harsh, because after a few seconds of silence he patted my shoulder.

"Let's just eat tomorrow. I already had Shelagh book the dinner. Hold on to the rings for now, we'll talk about it later, okay?"

I sat there without moving.

Shelagh. Shelagh again.

Even our weekend plans had to have her in them.

When he saw I wasn't saying anything, he yawned, stood, and went to wash up.

The bathroom door closed, and the water started running.

I reached out, took the box back, and slid it into my coat pocket.

There wouldn't be a later.

No dinner out, no talking it through. Nothing left at all.

The next afternoon, I took an Uber to the mall.

The jeweler where I'd ordered the ring was in a corner on the second floor, and the clerk still recognized me when I walked in, coming over with a smile.

"Ma'am, you were happy with the ring last time?"

I took out the red velvet box and set it on the counter.

"I don't want it anymore."

"Custom pieces can't be returned or exchanged." The smile stalled on her face. "You signed an agreement at the time. We can't resell it."

"That's fine," I said. "Just melt it down for me."

She glanced at me, opened her mouth as if to say something, then thought better of it, nodded, and carried the box into the back room.

I sat on the high stool in front of the counter and waited, my face blank.

Six months of saved salary, from the design to placing the order to the wait, I remembered every step of it clearly.

Now all of it was about to become one small lump of gold for the furnace.

My phone lit up. A message from Burton.

"Working late tonight, get your own dinner. Shelagh's got a proposal due, I need to supervise it."

Then he added another line.

"Oh, and I made plans to take Shelagh to that new art exhibit. She's been saying she wants to go. You sort out your own time."

I stared at the message.

So it turned out plans with me came behind someone else.

Right after came a message from Shelagh, a link.

I opened it. A whole photo album. The pictures started years ago, her and Burton grinning and flashing peace signs in the break room.

The two of them dozing against each other on the high-speed train on a business trip.

Clinking glasses at the company gala, matching watch straps on their wrists.

A candid shot of him draping his coat over her shoulders in the office late at night.

Nearly a hundred photos, like another version of the daily married life of Burton Gilbert.

At the very end there was a block of text.

"Victoria, there are some things you probably don't know. I knew Burton before you did. He always looked out for me."

"I didn't want to get married back then, but he said he needed a marriage to steady things at home, so the two of you got together."

"You've seen for yourself how good he's been to me all these years. That business with the cat was just one thing among many."

There was a voice message too.

I tapped it and held it to my ear.

Shelagh, wheedling. "Burton, you promised you'd spend my birthday with me, and then you stood me up again..."

Burton's voice came back, low.

"That was my fault, I'll make it up to you next week. I'll take you to that private kitchen place you've been going on about, okay?"

"You said it. No forgetting this time."

"I won't, I promise. Whatever comes up, you come first."

The message finished.

The screen went dark on its own, reflecting my own face, drained white.

Three years.

All those late nights, the business trips, the tight deadlines, I'd thought he really was just busy with work. It turned out all of his time had gone to someone else.

The anniversaries he'd begged off, the dinners he'd canceled, the plans he'd forgotten had never just vanished into thin air.

They'd only flowed into someone else's calendar.

Shelagh sent another photo, one from a business trip they'd taken together.

Burton leaning against the floor-to-ceiling window of a hotel, Shelagh's arms wrapped around his waist from behind, smiling sweetly.

The timestamp in the bottom right corner was from three years ago.

Three years ago. Back then we hadn't even been married half a year.

Tears slid down before I noticed.

I put the phone back in my pocket.

The clerk came out from the back and handed me the melted gold.

I took it and weighed it in my hand. So light. As light as every promise from these three years.

I walked out of the jeweler's.

It had started raining outside the mall. I stood at the entrance waiting for a car, and my phone buzzed again.

Shelagh had sent a video, from the exhibit.

The lighting was dim, projections drifting across the walls. She smiled at the camera.

"Mr. Gilbert, look at this, it's gorgeous."

Off screen, Burton's voice, warm with a smile.

"If you like it, stay a while. We're not in a hurry."

Then the camera turned, catching the two of their shadows thrown against the wall, close, so close there was no gap between them.

Someone off screen said with a laugh,

"You two really suit each other."

Shelagh let out a little laugh.

"Of course we do."

The video ended.

The rain came down harder, the taxi still hadn't come, and I watched the streetlights blur in the downpour.

A car pulled up at the curb.

The door opened, and Burton got out under an umbrella, Shelagh behind him.

He looked up and saw me, and clearly froze for a second.

"What are you doing here?" His brow furrowed, and he glanced at the bag in my hand.

"What are you doing running off to the mall alone? Spending money recklessly again?"

Shelagh saw me and smiled a hello.

"Victoria, what a coincidence. Mr. Gilbert brought me to see the art exhibit, I didn't expect to run into you. It's really something, you should go take a look too."

Burton held the umbrella, its canopy tilted slightly toward Shelagh.

She was perfectly dry, while one side of his coat already had a patch soaked through by the rain.

I looked at the scene and smiled.

"That thing you said was useless yesterday..."

"I had it melted down."

"Burton, let's get a divorce."

I went around them and walked into the rain.