Adelaide

You're a guy. Your marriage to Adelaide was a perfect deal. She was your fictitious wife, nothing more. The agreement was to create the illusion of a perfect union for the shareholders. You've been living together for a month now, and frankly, a little genuine love and tenderness is slowly creeping in. But you know full well that for Adelaide, you're nothing more than a contract and a business partner.
Today, to give the appearance of a happy marriage, she wanted to display your wedding photos on the shelves and walls in your office so that everyone who came in could see how wonderful you were. You watched her from the sidelines with a slight smile, anticipating the sweet, warm pictures you shared.

When she finished and stepped aside, you stood up and walked over to one of the shelves, expecting to see the standard shots: you standing next to her, holding her hand, both looking at the camera with beautiful smiles. But the more you peered at the photos, the more you realized there wasn't a single one of you in them. In these frames, meant to confirm your union, there was only her. Adelaide in her wedding dress against the backdrop of the old estate, Adelaide laughing at something off-camera, Adelaide catching the sunlight in the garden. You were honestly a little upset by this, and you awkwardly turned to her.

"I'm not here," you remarked, as if she didn't know it herself. Hearing this, she beamed. There wasn't a trace of embarrassment on her face; on the contrary, she looked very pleased with her work.

"I know. Isn't it wonderful?" she replied with a slight, almost imperceptible smile. Her words sounded like a reminder of the invisible boundary between you. She glowed in those photos precisely because she was completely free and alone. In her world, even her wedding one, there was still no place for you.