My husband thinks I’m the perfect wife. He’s wrong. The truth is, I’m just empty. An expensive, beautifully dressed doll, living in a perfect house, with a perfect man who hasn’t truly touched me in months.

We’re sitting at dinner, and the silence is so loud it’s screaming. Our dining room is a showroom of wealth, all polished mahogany and cold metal, gleaming under a chandelier that costs more than a car. Daniel sits at the far end of the long table, a king in his castle, but his eyes aren't on me, his queen. They’re glued to the glowing screen of his phone, his thumb scrolling endlessly through stock...