He Called Me His Wife’s Cousin

"Keep your voice down, Claire. She's my wife."

Nathan said it through his teeth, gripping my elbow under the Wingate Hotel awning so hard it hurt. His cologne was new. His suit was new. His watch was new.

Six years, and my husband had become a stranger in a better coat.

"Your wife," I repeated.

"Six months." He glanced back at the woman in pink waiting by the hotel doors. "Her name is Rachel. So don't do anything stupid."

"I'm your wife, Nathan!"

"Lower your voice."

"You're overseas." My laugh came out broken. "That's what you told me. Contract work. That's what I told Ethan every night when he asked why his father only lives inside a phone."

"Claire."

"Say it." I pulled my arm free. "Look me in the face and say you married someone else."

For one second, I thought I saw shame in his eyes.

Then it was gone.

"I married someone else," he said calmly. "Happy?"

I grabbed the brass railing beside the hotel door to stay on my feet.

My folder crumpled in my fist. Inside was the resume a recruiter had just pushed back across her desk. *Six years out of the workforce.* Six years of lying for him.

"Ethan's appointment is Thursday," I whispered. "I have four hundred dollars. The clinic wants eleven hundred. Do you even know what his heart medicine costs?"

A muscle jumped in his jaw. "I'll send something."

"You'll *send* something."

"What do you want me to say?" He leaned closer, his voice low and cold. "You made it easy, Claire. You never asked questions. You were the easiest thing I ever walked away from."

All the air went out of me in one short, ugly sound.

"Nathan?" The woman in pink stepped toward us, smiling uncertainly. "Is everything all right, darling?"

His face changed in a heartbeat. The cold vanished. A warm, easy smile slid into place, the one I hadn't seen since our wedding day.

"Sorry, love." He walked back and took her hand. "This is Claire. My cousin. Can you believe it? We haven't seen each other in years."

*Cousin.*

Nine years of marriage. A son. A certificate in a shoebox in my closet.

Cousin.

"Oh, how wonderful!" The woman let go of Nathan and took both of my hands in hers. Her palms were warm and soft. Her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled. She meant every word. "I'm Rachel. Nathan never talks about his family. You have no idea how happy this makes me."

The truth was right there on my tongue. *I'm his wife. We have a son. He's eight.*

My phone buzzed in my hand.

The screen lit up with a photo of a small boy grinning with a missing front tooth. [Ethan]

Nathan saw it. I watched him see his son's face glowing up from my palm.

He looked away.

My fingers closed around the phone until the edges bit into my skin.

"It really has been years," I heard myself say. "You look well, Nathan."

The lie tasted like metal.

Over Rachel's shoulder, Nathan's shoulders dropped half an inch. He gave me a small nod, like I had just done him a favor.

"You look tired, Claire," Rachel said softly, still holding my hands. "Is everything okay?"

"Job hunting," I said. "It's been a long week."

"Oh, you poor thing." She squeezed my fingers. "Nathan, give her my number. Family helps family."

"We have a reservation," Nathan said quickly. "Take care, Claire."

The doors swung shut behind them. Through the glass, I watched my husband pull out another woman's chair.

He had never once pulled out mine.

It took me two tries to swipe the screen. "Hey, baby."

"Mom?" Ethan's small voice. "Did you get the money for the doctor?"

I pressed my fist against my mouth.

"Working on it," I said. "I promise."

I don't remember deciding where to go. Car horns blared. Someone's shoulder hit mine. If I stopped walking, I would sit down on the pavement and never get up.

I walked straight into a man stepping out of a corner deli.

My folder flew out of my hands. Papers scattered across the concrete. My resume. Ethan's appointment slip. The pharmacy discount card.

"Careful." A strong hand caught my arm.

"I'm sorry." I dropped to my knees and grabbed at the pages. My hands shook so badly I dropped the card twice. "I'm so sorry."

"You're apologizing to me?" He crouched and gathered the pages that had blown the farthest. "I was the one standing still."

He was tall, in a dark suit with no tie, and he smelled of cedar and rain. For one strange second, the smell pulled at something in the back of my mind, like a word I couldn't quite remember.

He handed me the papers. His gray eyes stayed on my face, not the pages.

"Are you hurt?"

"No." I stood and shoved everything into my bag. "Just having the worst day of my life. Excuse me."

I walked away before he could see me cry.

I got three blocks.

"Wait! Excuse me!"

Running footsteps. I turned.

The man from the deli was out of breath, his jacket flapping open, holding up my folder. "You left this. Your son's appointment is in here. I figured you'd need it."

I stared at him.

Nobody had run anywhere for me in six years.

"You didn't have to do that," I said.

"I know." He caught his breath. "I saw your resume. Operations. Are you any good?"

"I raised a sick child alone for six years on almost nothing." My voice cracked. "I'm very good."

He went very still. Then he pulled a card from his jacket.

"I run a company two blocks from here. I need someone who can keep my office from falling apart." He held it out. "Come tomorrow. Nine o'clock."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that." He was already stepping back. "Don't be late."

He disappeared around the corner.

I looked at the card. Plain black letters.

ADRIAN DOYLE. CEO, THE DOYLE GROUP.

My shoulders came down from around my ears for the first time all afternoon.

My phone rang. An unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Claire? It's Rachel! From the hotel." Her voice was bright and warm. "Nathan gave me your number. I hope that's all right."

My stomach turned over. "Of course."

"Listen, I couldn't stop thinking about you all through lunch. You looked so worn out, and Nathan said you're a single mom." She lowered her voice like she was sharing a secret. "My brother runs a company downtown. His personal secretary just quit, and he's impossible to work for, but he pays well. I called him and told him all about you. He said to send you straight in tomorrow morning."

I couldn't speak.

"His name is Adrian," Rachel said happily. "Adrian Doyle. Nathan's family is my family now, Claire. Let me do this for you."

Then her voice dropped, playful and serious at once.

"Just one thing. Adrian can't stand liars. He cuts them out of his life the same day he finds them. No second chances. Ever." She laughed. "But you're family. So you've got nothing to worry about."

I looked down at the card in my hand.

My husband's secret wife had just found me a job with her brother.

The same man who had hired me ten minutes ago, without knowing whose wife I was.