The Secrets We Keep

You know that feeling when the air feels heavy? Like the universe is holding its breath, waiting to see what you’ll do next? That was me the morning after I found the letter, the one I wrote to myself, like a ghost of the woman I used to be trying to claw her way back.

I hadn’t slept. I couldn’t, because every time I closed my eyes, I saw Luca’s face. The look he gave me right before I walked out. That quiet devastation he didn’t say out loud.

And Daniel… still lying in that hospital bed, bruised but breathing, was just a few miles away. Our marriage had fractured long before the crash, but now? Now, guilt pressed into every corner of my chest. I told myself I needed coffee but what I really needed was to feel something that didn’t twist.

I head downstairs to the café in my hotel, still in yesterday’s clothes, still smelling like someone else’s story. The city outside looks like nothing had changed. But everything inside me had changed. I took my coffee black, bitter, and fast. Shortly after, my phone buzzed again. A voicemail, from Luca.

I stared at the screen like it might bite me should I play it. A part of me wasn’t sure if I had the strength to hear whatever he needed to say, but my thumb hovered anyway. I hit play.

His voice was low. Steady. Too calm.

// “Ariana, if you’re listening to this, I guess you made your choice. I get it. Life is messy. We all have history. I just thought maybe… we’d write a new one. Together.”

My heart thudded against my ribs.

// “I’m leaving New York for a while. There's a gallery opening in Paris. Maybe I’ll finally show the damn painting. The one I started the night you left the first time. Don’t worry, I won’t call again. Just wanted you to know… I never lied to you, not once, you were the only thing that ever felt real.”

He paused. One breath. One beat.

// “Goodbye, Ariana.”

Then silence. I sat there, blinking hard, every word settling like a stone in my gut. He was gone again, just like that.

******

Back at the hospital, I barely made it past the reception desk before I noticed her. Her hair was short, platinum blonde, styled too perfectly for this early in the morning. She wore heels and a pale gray blazer that appears too expensive. She sat outside Daniel’s room like she owned it. Like she’d been there before.

She turned when she saw me. Her eyes scanned me head to toe in half a second. I hated the way her mouth twitched into a polite smile. “Hi. You must be Ariana,” she said, standing.

I narrowed my eyes. “And you are?”

She extended a hand. “Vanessa. Daniel’s attorney.”

Attorney?

I didn’t shake her hand.

“What’s going on?”

She gave a slow blink, like she’d rehearsed this in the mirror. “Daniel asked for me when he woke up. He was conscious briefly about an hour ago. He gave instructions.”

My stomach turned. “Instructions for what?”

Vanessa lowered her voice. “You may want to sit.”

I didn’t. I couldn’t.

“I’m his wife. I think I can handle it.”

She sighed, then reached into her bag and pulled out a document: a thick, stapled, and stamped.

A will. My knees went weak. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s a secondary living will, actually,” she explained. “He filed it quietly six months ago, just after you started showing attitudes according to him. In the event of incapacitation, or any circumstance rendering him unable to manage his affairs… I’m to inform you that he has reassigned power of attorney.”

“To who?”

“To me.”

I blinked. “Wait, you’re kidding. Daniel never mentioned...”

“It’s legal, notarized and so it is valid.”

I suddenly felt like I was falling through the floor. “What else have I not been told?”

Vanessa raised an eyebrow. “You should probably ask Daniel that.”

Then she turned and walked into his room without waiting for me.

And I stood there, stunned, the paper still in my hand, the smell of coffee warping around me like some fog.

When I finally walked into the room, Daniel was awake. Sitting up. Looking very alive. And very alert. He smiled faintly when he saw me.

“Hey…”

His voice was raspy, like he’d swallowed a frog.

“Hey,” I said, softer than I meant to. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got run over by karma,” he joked.

I didn’t laugh.

“I saw Vanessa outside,” I said slowly, stepping closer. “She gave me… documents.”

He sighed. Closed his eyes.

“She wasn’t supposed to show you that yet.”

“But it’s true?”

He nodded. “I didn’t think you’d care.” he said. 

That stung. “I’m still your wife, Daniel.”

“Are you?” he asked, his gaze cutting sharp now. “Because last I checked, you were halfway out the door. Don’t act shocked I protected myself.”

“You filed a second will behind my back.” 

He looked at me then. Really looked. “I filed it the night I saw you kissing him. Outside that art gallery.” I froze.

“What?”

“You didn’t see me. I was across the street. You kissed him like he was oxygen and you’d been drowning.” he said. 

My mouth parted, but nothing came out.

“You should’ve told me then,” he added. “You should’ve left for real. But instead, we played this silent game of pretending. And I got tired of wondering when you would finally stop loving me.”

I felt sick instantly, he knew, he always knew and still, he held on. Out of pride, or punishment, I wasn’t sure anymore.

“I didn’t kiss him out of spite,” I whispered. “I kissed him because I felt… alive. For the first time in years.” I said without minding how he felt about it. Besides, I was angry that he has been spying all the while. 

Daniel nodded. “Then go be alive. But don’t stand here like you’re the only one who’s been hurt.”

*******

I left the hospital not just because I was angry, but because I needed air: I needed a space to reset. I wandered without direction, walking through Manhattan like a refugee. My feet moved without thinking, until I found myself back at the gallery where it all began.

The place where Luca first touched me. Not physically, but emotionally. Where he looked at me like he saw me. The lights were off, the doors locked, but inside, leaning against the far wall, was the painting of me, Luca’s painting, and for the first time, I understood it. The woman in it wasn’t perfect. She was fractured, bathed in blue, crimson and gold. An interpretation of fire above her, but her hands were torn, trembling. She wasn’t an angel. She was human and she looked exactly like me.

I returned to my hotel room that evening and collapsed on the bed. Only to find a new voicemail blinking on my phone. Blocked number. My breath caught as I pressed play.

// “Ariana… we need to talk. I know what you’ve been doing. What you’ve been hiding. And I have proof. If you want this to stay buried, meet me tomorrow night. Ten o'clock. Pier 14. Come alone.”

I sat there, phone in hand, heart pounding like war drums in my chest. That voice… wasn’t Daniel and it wasn’t Luca.

But it knew me. More reason I must go: it knew everything.