I compromised where I could held firm where it mattered to me. Sean played peacemaker, but I noticed he rarely contradicted his mother directly. After the wedding the undermining became more systematic.
Despite using my company for their events, the Caldwells constantly questioned my decisions, changed plans last minute and took credit for my ideas. At family gatherings my opinions were solicited then dismissed. My background in event planning was treated as a charming hobby rather than a successful business.
Anna has such a good eye for these things, Eleanor would say to her friends, patting my hand condescendingly. It’s almost like having a personal party planner in the family. Sean never defended me.
He’d shrug and tell me later that’s just how his mother was, that I shouldn’t take it personally. But it was personal and it got worse as the years passed. The opportunity to plan Eleanor’s 70th birthday in Rome should have been my crowning achievement.
A week-long celebration in the Eternal City, culminating in a dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant overlooking the Colosseum. I threw myself into creating the perfect event, leveraging every contact I had in the industry. It was during this planning that I discovered the first cracks in the Caldwell facade.
The deposits for venues were delayed. Vendors called asking about payments. When I mentioned it to Sean he brushed it off, saying the family accountant was just being cautious with international transfers.
But I saw the statements accidentally left open on his laptop. Investments gone bad, properties mortgaged to the hilt, lines of credit maxed out. The Caldwell fortune was dwindling fast.
Still, I kept planning, using my own company’s credit line to secure deposits when needed. I told myself it was temporary, that Sean would explain everything once the birthday celebration was behind us. Then came the morning of our flight to Rome.
Sean was in the shower when his phone pinged with a message. I never checked his phone, I’d always respected his privacy. But something made me look that morning.
The message preview from V was clear on his screen. Can’t wait to see you in Rome. Have you told her yet? My fingers moved without conscious thought, opening the message thread with Vanessa Hughes, Sean’s college girlfriend.
The woman his parents had always adored. The woman they had expected him to marry before he met me. The messages went back months.
Plans made. A future discussed. And yes a baby, their baby, due in four months.
I took screenshots, forwarded them to myself, then deleted the evidence from his phone. I packed my bags, plastered on a smile and boarded the flight to Rome with my husband and his family. Now standing outside that restaurant in Rome I made my choice.
I wouldn’t confront Sean before the dinner. I would let events unfold. And when they did I would be ready.
Our flight landed at Fiumicino airport just as the golden Italian sunset painted Rome’s skyline. I’d arranged private transportation for the entire Caldwell entourage, Sean’s parents Eleanor and Richard, his sister Melissa with her husband Grant, his brother Thomas with his wife Claire, and two sets of aunts and uncles. The convoy of sleek black Mercedes vans waiting at the terminal should have impressed them.
Instead Eleanor’s first words stepping off the plane were, I thought I’d specified the hotel cars, Anna. These seem rather generic. I bit my tongue as I had countless times before.
The hotel had a scheduling issue. These are actually from Lux Transport. They service most of the diplomats in Rome.
My explanation fell on deaf ears as she was already discussing something with Richard, their heads bent together in that conspiratorial way that always excluded me. The Hotel de Russi welcomed us with the five-star treatment I’d meticulously arranged. Champagne flowed in the private lounge while bellhops whisked away our luggage.
I’d spent months securing the perfect accommodations, selecting suites with the best views, arranging welcome baskets filled with Italian delicacies, and planning personalized schedules for each family member. Eleanor barely glanced at her itinerary before setting it aside. We’ll just play it by ear, she said, waving away weeks of careful planning.
The family knows Rome quite well. Our suite was magnificent. A terrace overlooking the steps, fresh flowers in every room, and a bottle of Sean’s favorite Berlot breathing on the sideboard.
But the moment we entered, Sean’s phone buzzed and he stepped onto the terrace, speaking in hushed tones. Work? I asked when he returned. Just some investment issues, he replied, not meeting my eyes.
Let’s get ready for dinner. The welcome dinner I’d planned at a charming trattoria in Trastevere became the first clear sign of my exclusion. Somehow, the seating arrangement shifted just before we arrived, and I found myself at the far end of the table, separated from Sean by his cousin and aunt.
Throughout the meal, inside jokes flew across the table, stories of previous family trips to Italy from which I’d been absent. When I attempted to join the conversation about the week’s planned activities, Melissa interrupted. Oh, Anna, we’ve actually decided to do some family shopping tomorrow instead of the Vatican tour.
Family shopping? I asked. You know, Eleanor interjected smoothly, just some tradition we have. You’d be bored, dear.
Why don’t you use the time to check on the birthday arrangements? That’s your expertise, after all. The pattern continued throughout the next few days. I’d wake to find Sean already gone, a hastily scribbled note about meeting his father for breakfast.