My Faithful Husband

One of the things I was a hundred per cent sure about was that my husband loved me. I was certain—how could he not? What was there not to love? Ever since I met him ten years ago, back when we were still at university, he had always shown me—always proved to me—just how much he loved me.

He built his company from nothing, shaping it into what it is today. Being his number one supporter of course, after my father passed away, since Ryan and I were already married, I transferred all my properties into his company, I let him handle everything so we could achieve what we have now... The Bennett Incorporation was built by my husband, Ryan Bennett.

I was the happiest woman—no, the happiest wife—in the world.

Since Ryan was always busy running the company, we decided to wait before having children. We agreed to hold off until we had reached a point where he could step back, let others lead, and have time for me, his wife, and our future children.

So whenever he came home late, had to travel, or I didn’t see him for a week—I didn’t worry. I loved him. I trusted him. He would call me now and then. We had video calls. He surprised me with gifts. He gave me everything. Anything I wanted—I just had to ask, and it was mine.

He loved me. I was sure of it.

I was happy. I was a happy, married woman. I was the happiest woman in the world.

That’s why it was a no-brainer. After staying a whole month at our vacation house—with Ryan only visiting once—I decided to surprise him by coming home. He hadn’t been coming back lately, and when he did, it was always late. He felt bad about it, so he suggested I go relax by the beach, at our vacation home. But he hadn't come to see me since—and I missed him.

I wanted to see him. I wanted to spend time with him. I wanted to make love to him. I missed my husband.

Sure, he called all the time—video calls, messages—but I needed more. I needed him. So, without telling him anything, I decided to surprise him. I knew I was the best wife in the world—this would make him happy.

I didn’t use our jet because I knew it would alert him. I booked a first-class ticket back home. No one was at the airport to receive me, of course—no one knew I was coming back home.

I was giddy the entire way, thinking about Ryan’s reaction when he saw me.

I grabbed a taxi straight from the airport to our house. When we arrived, I had to enter the password at the gate since the system didn’t recognize the car. I didn’t know if Ryan was home, and asking him to open the gate would ruin the surprise.

The taxi pulled in. The driver helped me unload my bags onto the front step. I paid him—gave him a huge tip—then turned to open the front door and walked into my home, the house I shared with my husband.

Only… it didn’t feel like my house.

It was the same house—but it had changed. Someone had redecorated. And it wasn’t just the décor.

As I took a few more steps into the house, I began to notice paintings—portraits of a woman I didn’t know. A woman I had never met. Was she a celebrity? An artist? Who was she?

Then I saw pictures of a little girl. She was beautiful. And she looked a lot like...

But before my mind could finish that thought, I suddenly heard a voice.

“Hello? Hello?”

I turned around—and there she was. The woman from the paintings. The woman from the photographs. Standing right there in my house.

I froze, completely confused. Did Ryan sell the house? I asked myself. But why would he do that without telling me?

The woman’s voice broke through my thoughts again.

“Hello? Excuse me, how did you get into my house? And who are you?”

My mouth went dry. I stumbled over my words.

“I... I’m sorry. My name is... My name is Monique Morford.”

The woman seemed to catch her breath the moment she heard my name. I could feel the shift in her demeanour.

I kept talking, trying to explain. “Maybe you know my husband—Ryan Bennett. Maybe he sold you the house. I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m just confused. I’ve been away, and I just came back, and this used to be our home. But now you’re here, and you’re saying it’s your house... I’m... I’m kind of confused. I should call him.”

The woman was just about to say something when a little girl ran down the stairs.

It was the same girl I had seen in the pictures around the house. She rushed toward the woman, shouting,

“Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!”—laughing hysterically.

The woman bent down slightly and said firmly,

“I told you not to run on the stairs. You might fall and hurt yourself. Please stop running—we’ve already talked about this.”

The little girl giggled and replied,

“It’s not me! It’s Daddy! He’s chasing me!”

The woman gave her a look—a mix of sternness and love. It was only for a moment, but it was clear how much she adored her daughter. The little girl looked about three or four—no older than five.

I smiled at their interaction, even as my confusion still lingered. I reached into my bag, pulled out my phone, and was just about to call Ryan.

Then, a voice sounded from the top of the stairs.

“Rianna! Rianna! Where are you?”

The little girl burst into even more laughter, spinning in place. But that voice… it sounded exactly like Ryan.

Why would Ryan be here?

It didn’t make sense.

I instinctively took a step forward. The room went quiet, all eyes turning toward the sound as someone began descending.

And then I saw him.

Ryan.

Coming down the stairs. My body went cold. I couldn’t move.

What is Ryan doing here? If he didn’t sell the house… this woman… this child… it couldn’t be.

No. I couldn’t think like that. Ryan wouldn’t—he couldn’t—do that. There had to be some kind of explanation.

Maybe it was Ryan’s twin. Yes, I was being ridiculous. That had to be it.

But then Ryan—his double, his twin, whoever he was—finally looked at me.

Because until that moment, all his attention had been on the woman and the little girl, he'd looked at them with love and tenderness. He hadn’t seen me yet.

But then… his eyes landed on me. He stopped. Froze. His expression changed.

He recognized me.

And that’s when I knew—it was Ryan. My husband.

My trusting, faithful, perfect husband.

Time seemed to stand still as Ryan and I stared at each other.

But he was the first to recover. He continued descending the stairs, looking calm and composed, as if nothing was amiss. I stood frozen in place, watching him, with no idea what was happening.

Just as he reached the last step, the little girl ran to him and wrapped her arms around his legs.

“Daddy! Daddy! You didn’t catch me! You didn’t catch me—I won!”

Ryan picked her up effortlessly, smiling down at her as he kissed her cheek.

“Yes, you did, sweetheart. You’re a winner.”

The little girl giggled and squealed, wriggling until he placed her down. Then she bolted off, her laughter echoing as she ran toward the kitchen,

or what used to be the kitchen.

The woman called after her,

“No running, Rianna! No running in the house!”

But the little girl just laughed louder.

That’s when I saw her. Maria.

She stepped out of the kitchen, the woman who used to be my maid.

She started to say, “Madam, there is—” but the words died on her lips when her eyes landed on me.

She froze. Her mouth parted, stunned.

“Mrs. Bennett, you’re home…” she whispered.

And then, nothing. No more

Ryan’s voice cut through the silence.

“Go back to the kitchen, Maria.”

Maria flinched. Then turned and practically ran back to where she came from.

There was no mistaking it anymore.

This was my husband.

That was his daughter.

This woman..... who is she?

And this house—this house that was mine—was it still mine?

Was I dreaming?

What the hell is happening here?