Off The Record
My Husband Hired A Model To Pose As His Wife At His Reunion—He Didn’t Expect The Lesson I Taught Him
My husband felt I wasn’t worthy of going to his high school reunion after we had been married for 12 years and had two children. Instead, he hired a stunning stranger to portray his wife. I had already prepared a surprise that would make his humiliation legendary, but he was unaware of it.
At the age of 23, I got married to Ben.
As college sweethearts, we believed that love and willpower could overcome whatever challenge life presented. I was teaching preschool at the time, making just enough to pay for gas, while he was working in an entry-level job at a computer startup.
We ate more ramen than any two people should likely eat, and we furnished our studio apartment with items from yard sales. However, we were content. We were so joyful, my god.
In his mid-30s, things began to change. Ben received a promotion. then given another promotion. All of a sudden, we had a fancy car in the driveway, new suits hanging in our closet, and dinners at places without pricing on the menus.
I began to notice how he looked at me after the birth of our second kid, which required another C-section and left me with a scar I tried not to despise. Or rather, his lack of eye contact with me.
Ben would glance at me as if I were a piece of furniture that he had long since ceased observing.
In addition to running a home and juggling two children under five, I was also looking for freelance graphic design work whenever I could find time between picking up the kids from school and changing their diapers. My physique had changed. I was constantly exhausted.
Ben, too? Every time I said that I needed something, he would use his new favorite phrase.
“We’re tight this month, babe.”
“You don’t really need new clothes. What you have is fine.”
I trusted him. He kept buying himself things, but I really thought we were having financial difficulties. brand-new timepiece. brand-new laptop. He goes golfing with his coworkers on the weekends.
I wanted to get my hair done, but I asked for a babysitter? It was wasteful spending.
One evening in late September, he returned home with a voice full of excitement that I hadn’t heard in months. “My 20th high school reunion is next month!”
That was the only thing he discussed for the next two weeks.
Then he gave the first true warning sign during supper one evening.
“You know,” he said, “most people don’t bring their spouses to these things. It’s really more of old friends catching up.”
I was assisting our youngest daughter with chopping her supper when I looked up. “Really? I thought reunions usually had plus-ones.”
Without looking at me, he shrugged. “You’d probably be bored anyway. It’s not really your crowd.”
I didn’t want to admit how much that hurt.
I discovered him trying on a suit the next week. Not any suit, though. An exquisite Italian blazer in charcoal with a price tag that brought tears to my eyes.
$900.
I inquired, “What’s the occasion?”
Quickly, “Work thing,” he said. “Big client meeting next month. I need to look sharp for networking.”
“Didn’t you say last week that we couldn’t afford to fix the dishwasher?”
He turned to face me, his face patient in that patronizing way that made me feel insignificant. “Claire, this is an investment in my career. The dishwasher can wait a few more weeks. We can wash dishes by hand.”
Correct. We could do the dishwashing ourselves. Naturally, when he said “we,” he meant me.
I saw that he was more attached to his phone than normal two nights prior to the reunion. He continued to type rapidly while grinning at the screen before placing it face down on the table.
I said, “Who are you texting?”
“Just my buddy, Mark. He’s helping organize the reunion.”
However, there was a tone to his voice. Something is wrong.
After he went for the gym the following morning, I did something I had never done before. I got his laptop open.
He was still using his email.
I looked over the most recent messages. emails for business. receipts from Amazon. Spam. Then I noticed something.
“Confirmation – Event Date Package – October 14th” is the subject line.
From: Companions Elite, Inc.
Before I clicked on it, my hands began to shake.
There were items on the invoice. Expert. And frighteningly obvious.
One-night event date: $400 Wardrobe consultation: $100 Extra briefing: $100 Role: Light amount of spouse affection (appropriate hand-holding, arm-linking) Total: $600.00
A picture of a stunning blond woman, perhaps 27 years old, with flawless skin and a grin that likely cost $5,000 in orthodontics was included. Chloe was her listed name.
The email thread caught my attention.
Ben and Sandra, a representative of the agency, exchanged messages. Then, horrifyingly, my old picture from before the second pregnancy, maybe five years ago.
Sandra responded with: “Perfect! Chloe will study this so she can answer basic questions convincingly. We recommend keeping interactions brief with anyone who might have met the real spouse.”
Ben replied, “Won’t be an issue. I just need Chloe to look the part for a few hours. My wife isn’t really in her best shape right now. Don’t want to deal with the awkwardness.”
That line was read three times by me.
Right now, my wife isn’t feeling her best.
My spouse felt embarrassed by me. That he would rather pay a stranger $600 to stand beside him than bring his real wife to his high school reunion makes him feel terrible.
Another email was sent. “Talking Points for Saturday.” is the subject line.
It was a list. Goddamn list.
- Met in college (don’t go into specifics).
- Two children, aged four and six
- You’re a marketing professional (keep it generic).
- Riverside Heights is where we call home.
- Eight years of marriage (they refuse to fact-check)
- He had written a screenplay for her—for his fictitious spouse.
I cautiously closed the laptop as if it were about to blow up.
After that, I went to the restroom and puked.
I was waiting for Ben in the kitchen when he got home that evening.
I said, “We need to talk,”
His expression was already irritated as he put down his gym bag. “Can it wait? I’m exhausted.”
“No. It can’t wait.”
He stopped when he heard something in my voice.
Silently, “I found the invoice,” I said. “From Elite Companions.”
He lost the color in his face. He remained silent for a long time.
At last, he remarked, “It’s not what you think,”
I chuckled. “Really? I think you hired a model to pretend to be your wife at your reunion. Am I wrong?”
He combed his hair with his hand. “Claire, listen. It’s just optics. These people… they’re all successful now. CEOs, entrepreneurs, influencers. They’re going to show up with trophy wives and expensive cars. I just don’t want to look like I settled.”
The word hung between us like poison: “Settled.” “You think marrying me was settling?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean, Ben? Because from where I’m standing, you’re saying I’m not good enough to be seen with you.”
He let out a sigh and rubbed his temples as if I were causing him a headache. “You’ve been stressed. You said you haven’t felt confident since the baby. I just thought it would be easier this way.”
“It’s one night, Claire. One night where I don’t have to explain why my wife looks exhausted and uncomfortable. Is that really so terrible?”
I gazed at the man I had spent twelve years with. I was told I was an embarrassment by this stranger who was standing in my kitchen.
“Get out,” I said in a whisper.
He went out. He went upstairs and shut the door to the guest room, and I heard it.
Something clear and chilly was sinking into my bones as I stood there in the kitchen, my hands trembling.
I had no intention of crying. I wouldn’t plead with him to find myself attractive enough.
I had a lesson for him that he would never forget.
At ten o’clock that evening, I called my best friend Rachel and told her everything. The bill. The prototype. The talking points.
A protracted hush ensued. Then Rachel burst out laughing.
“Please tell me you’re planning revenge,” she responded.
I said, “Oh, I’m planning something,” “But I need your help.”
Rachel worked as a photographer. She had photographed family photos, corporate occasions, and weddings.
When I stated, “I need you at that reunion,” “With your camera.”
“I’m in. What else do you need?”
“I need to talk to Melissa.”
Ben and Melissa had attended the same high school. We kept in touch on social media after I met her a few years ago through a common acquaintance. She had always been nice to me; she would periodically check in and leave comments on pictures of the girls. More significantly, I recalled that she had posted about being a member of the committee that plans the reunion.
That morning, I messaged her on Facebook.
“Hey Melissa! Quick question: Are you helping with Ben’s reunion next weekend?”
Within minutes, she responded. “Yes! I’m on the planning committee. Why?”
“Can we meet for coffee? There’s something I need to tell you.”
That afternoon, we got together. I told her everything and ordered a latte that I never drank.
Melissa’s face changed from bewildered to astonished to utterly incensed.
She spoke the words “He hired a fake wife?” so loudly that the tables around her turned to stare.
“Yes. He hired a fake wife because he’s embarrassed of me.”
Her eyes were shining as she leaned forward. “Claire, I’ve been waiting years for an excuse to knock Ben down a peg. This is perfect.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’ll need a photo of you and Ben. Your real wedding photo. And I’ll need Rachel there Saturday night with her camera.”
A realization came. A grin began to appear on my face.
Melissa declared, “We’re going to make it legendary,”
Saturday night showed up without a hitch.
The Lakeside Country Club was the venue for the reunion. There were fairy lights hanging around. Near the bar, a jazz trio played softly.
I had spent three hours getting ready, with expertly done hair and flawless yet understated makeup. For the first time in months, I felt gorgeous when Rachel helped me choose a dark blue gown.
I was driven there by her. Ben couldn’t see my car because we parked in the rear lot.
She questioned, “You ready for this?”
“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”
We entered individually. Blending in with the other photographers, Rachel went first. After five minutes of waiting, I followed.
Already, the ballroom was full. Ben was standing close to the bar.
He had a nice appearance. I detested his beautiful looks. He looked great in that pricey outfit.
And Chloe was standing beside him.
In person, she was breathtaking. Blond hair in flawless curls. A black outfit that most likely cost more than my grocery budget each month.
Rachel appeared next to me.
Whispering, “Deep breaths,” she said. “We’ve got this.”
Melissa glanced at me from the other side of the room and nodded slightly.
I located a location close to the rear, partially obscured by a towering floral arrangement. I could observe everything without being noticed from there.
Ben presented Chloe to his former pals. He repeated, “This is my wife,” with a proud sigh in his chest.
No one questioned it. Why would they?
The lights went down about nine. Melissa tapped the microphone as she entered the tiny stage.
“Hi everyone! I hope you’re all having an amazing time reconnecting tonight!”
Applause and cheers.
“Before we get to the class superlatives, we have a special treat. Our ‘Then and Now’ slideshow.”
Senior, prom, and class trip photos were shown first in the slideshow. They called out names and recollections while pointing and laughing.
The “Now” part followed. pictures from a wedding. images of babies. portraits of families.
I observed Ben’s expression. He was grinning, at ease, and obviously unconcerned.
Then slide 47 showed up.
It was a picture from our wedding. the authentic one. Ben was wearing a somewhat too-large rental tux. We were both young, smiling foolishly, and I was wearing a plain white dress with loose hair.
“Ben and Claire – 12 years of marriage!” is the caption underneath it.
Ben paused his smile. Chloe’s gaze expanded.
The next slide came up.
Rachel had taken the picture one hour earlier that evening. Ben put his arm around Chloe’s waist as they entered the venue.
Title: “Some people grow with their partners. Others rent them for $600.”
There was silence in the room.
Then there was a gasp.
“Wait, is that..?”
“Oh my God!”
In roughly two seconds, Ben’s tan face became gray. With her mouth agape, Chloe stepped back.
I moved from where I was standing in the back. I stepped past them, my heels clicking on the hardwood floor, and the crowd parted.
“Hi everyone,” I said steadily and firmly. “I’m Claire. Ben’s real wife. The one he’s been married to for 12 years. The one who gave him two beautiful daughters. The one who, according to him, wasn’t in her best shape.”
A pin could have dropped.
The camera on Rachel flashed. Once. Twice. recording everything.
Chloe glanced at Ben and then at me before running out the door.
Ben simply stood motionless, his mouth moving like a fish’s.
“You..?” he managed to say at last. “You planned this. You humiliated me in front of everyone I know.”
I grinned. “No, sweetheart. You humiliated yourself. I just made sure everyone else could see it!”
A person in the audience began to applaud. Then another person. In a matter of seconds, half the room was cheering.
With Rachel at my heels, I turned and left the ballroom with a proud stance.
Everyone knew by the morning of Monday.
The pictures were all over the place. They had been posted to the alumni Facebook page with the cruel comment, “Best reunion drama EVER.”
“He really paid someone to pretend to be his wife?”
“That’s a whole new level of midlife crisis.”
“His real wife is gorgeous! What was he thinking?”
Ben attempted damage control. He said it was all a misunderstanding in messages he sent to people.
Screenshots, however, are truthful. Invoices don’t either.
Then I received the unexpected phone call.
Ben’s supervisor noticed the pictures. The reunion had apparently been attended by a member of his company. Ben was put on “temporary leave” on Tuesday afternoon as HR looked into “conduct unbecoming of company values.”
In the end, that $600 night cost him his six-figure job.
He slammed the door so forcefully when he got home on Wednesday night that the photos on the wall rattled.
He yelled, “Are you happy now?” “You’ve ruined everything!”
I glanced up from the kitchen table where I was going over the divorce papers. documents that I had filed earlier that day.
“I didn’t ruin anything, Ben. You did that all by yourself. I just turned on the lights so everyone could see what you’d become.”
“I’m going to lose my job!”
“You should’ve thought about that before you hired a fake wife.”
“This is insane! Over one stupid mistake!”
I got up and gave him a straight face. “It wasn’t one mistake. It was years of making me feel small, of dismissing me… and of choosing your image over your family. This was just the moment you finally got caught.”
He parted his lips, then shut them again. He had nothing to say, for once.
I gave him the envelope after grabbing it off the table. “Divorce papers. You’ve been served. My lawyer will be in touch about custody arrangements.”
“Claire…”
“Get out of my house, Ben.”
He went out. He got into his expensive automobile and drove off, and I watched through the window.
After that, I sobbed while seated at the kitchen table. I was glad to be free at last, not because I was depressed.
I’ve rebuilt my life in ways I never thought possible three months later. I have my girls, my townhouse, and the tranquility I had forgotten.
A trophy wife was what Ben desired. He is now merely a warning story. And me? I’m at last discovering what it’s like to be accepted just the way I am.
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