The Substitute Wife

Emily’s POV

Ever since my twin sister lost consciousness, a part of me had lost consciousness too. I was like a dissected laboratory specimen waiting to be discarded.

I had taken a few days off in my work place and the board understood my predicament even they sympathized with me, and sent their condolences and cards. This was more than a trying moment for me, and I felt more pained as the days passed by.

How would I surge on without Imelda, my twiny, my soul sister, who often told me , we would die the same day since we shared the same umbilical cord.

It was as if I was mourning and each time such thought got registered in my sub consciousness I waved it off and rebuked it, only for it to recur.

“Imelda, you have to wake up. You can’t remain like this,”

Those words had gone a long way to petrify me and reshape my fear into optimism. I didn’t get tired dropping cards and flower at her bedside, also raising in prayers.

Holding her cold fingers and squeezing them a little just to see if she could blink an eye lash. I relived memoires each time I saw some of her video recordings which covered past tournaments she had won. Her smiles had remained in my head and the promises she made to me had replayed several times in my mind.

Oh ill fate! Why now! To what end would this be? What should I expect?

“My superstar, please, wake up. You have a wedding to plan in one week,” I often said with her pictures in my hands, before going to bed, and these days past I had made it a routine to pass the night in her ward.

I had dreamed of her; how we strolled down the field with her kit. The wonderful emotional moments we lifted the trophies; the awards she had gathered and ambassadorial endorsements her fame had attracted. She had written her name in the sand of time.

But each time I woke up reality dawned on me that Imelda Peterson was still helplessly lying in a coma in the hospital, I was broken.

Indeed things had fallen apart and my center couldn’t hold.

When I finally resumed work, I couldn’t count how many times I mentioned Imelda, when I was supposed to mention a staff’s name.

The board had noticed this emotional pitfall and wrote me immediately to take some more days off until my mind got healed.

But would my mind ever get healed? My twin sister was still in a coma and she had my heart with her.

If they had asked me, I would have loved to resign and dedicate the remaining declining days of my life to Imelda. Yes, I was ready to do even more for my twin sister.

In the heat of all this, I never knew the twist of fate that was about to befall me.

Mom had visited the Wales’ palace, leaving me at the brick of anxiety and uncertainty. They left very early and return late.

As I perched at the window, watching them alight from the car and trudge toward our house I was locked into the shades of unimaginable thoughts about Imelda’s wedding with Prince Reuben.

I knew the queen had nullified the wedding. It was obvious this was the most highlighted decisions she was going to take.

Prince Reuben was her only son and child and the ill fate that befell Imelda had shut the door to royalty being traced to my family. It was obvious the queen had briefed them about the Wales royalty calling it a quit.

Uncle Charles was blue in the face, his grey mustache had lost its glory in just a short while of getting the news from the queen, I thought.

My mom’s hair was still scraggly tied into an empty ponytail that assumed how empty her heart was for Imelda

“How did it go?” I asked once they got in looking stolen and exhausted, “Uncle Charles? Mom? Have they finally nullified the wedding?”

My curiosity kept nudging me to ask more questions that may not yield prompt answer.

Mom slumped in the chair and snorted before gazing at me.

Uncle Charles was already at the shelf, a tequila handy, as he poured shots into the mug for a gulp.

Usually whenever mom hesitated to give me a reply concerning anything, I knew it was a lost cause; I waited at bated breath for either of them to give me a reply.

Uncle Charles kept taking gulps upon gulps of tequila as if he was forcefully getting himself drunk to forget what the queen had told them.

“Uncle,” I called emphatically, sat up and narrowed my throbbing brow at them, “Can someone please talk to me. What is the queen’s decision concerning my twin sister’s wedding with the prince?”

Seeing that my tone was almost becoming a mewl, mom grinned and said , “On the contrary they are still interested in the wedding.

Once I heard that I didn’t know whether to chortle or to squall. My face didn’t lose its luster because if indeed they were still interested in the wedding it certainly meant Prince Reuben would marry Imelda in her comatose stage.

“What do you mean, mom?” I queried and perceived a contrary approach even though I wasn’t good at guessing. “Will the wedding still hold as planned?”

Mom gave a faltered look and then reassured me, “Yes, definitely it will hold, but between a substitute wife and the Prince.”

“Substitute what!” I almost blubbered and stood up, “What do you mean? Who is going to substitute my sister? Why will the Wales royalty bring up such an idea? My twin sister is irreplaceable. She has no substitute. That is obsolete and disrespectful to our family,” I retorted.

Uncle Charles beseeched me with the shake of his head and then gave one striking statement, “Emily you have been chosen as the substitute wife for Prince Reuben.”

I was left gaping at them…