The Heiresses’s Reckoning

[ NANCY’S POV]

The shake in my hands wouldn't stop. It started in my fingers and moved up my arms, a cold feeling that made my palm feel slippery. I tore through the study, my breath coming in short, shaky gasps.

Don’t mess this up, I prayed. Please, just once, don't give him a reason to be mad.

Dave’s voice echoed in my head. Not the nice voice he used for work, but the sharp, mean one he used at home. He had texted me three words. ***Bring the documents.** He didn't say which ones. He just expected me to know.

My mind was a blur. Was it the Orion files or the Sartor ones? If I picked the wrong ones, the car ride home would be silent. And the silence was always worse than the yelling. I grabbed the thickest stack from his desk, the ones with the red Urgent stamp, and ran for the door.

The drive to the company was a mess of yellow lights and fast turns. I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. My heart was thumping against my ribs like a trapped bird. By the time I got to his floor, I was sweating, and my hair was a mess.

I reached his office door and pushed it open. "I have them," I started to say.

Then I froze.

Dave wasn’t alone. He was leaning back in his chair, looking relaxed in a way he never was with me. Sitting across from him, looking perfect in a silk dress, was Lydia. His childhood friend. The woman who always showed up whenever we were having trouble.

I felt like I couldn't breathe. I forced my face into a smile that felt like it was going to crack.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

The words didn't come from Lydia. They came from Dave. His voice was loud and mean. It made me flinch.

"I... I brought the documents," I said. My voice sounded small and weak. I held the files out, hoping they would protect me.

Dave’s face twisted in confusion and anger. "What documents? I never asked you for anything."

The floor felt like it was moving. I looked at his cold eyes, then at the files. "The text... You said it was urgent..."

"Oh, no."

The voice was sweet, like fake honey. Lydia leaned forward, her eyes wide as if she were about to cry. She looked at me, then at Dave, putting her hand over her heart.

"Dave, I am so sorry," she whispered. Her voice shook just a little bit. "I think... I think I sent the message to the wrong person. I was trying to text my assistant to bring my papers, and I must have clicked your wife's name by mistake."

She looked at me then. Deep in her eyes, there was a tiny flash of a win. She wasn't sorry at all.

"I’m so clumsy," she sighed, her lip trembling. "I’ve probably ruined your whole afternoon, haven't I?"

I stood there, holding the useless papers, my face burning with shame. Dave didn't look at Lydia with anger. He just sighed and shook his head, then turned his glare back to me, like it was my fault for being stupid enough to come.

The drive home was a blur of gray asphalt and stinging eyes.

How could Dave allow this to happen? My mind kept looping back to that one question. He never let me touch his phone. It was always face down on the table or tucked away in his pocket, protected by a passcode I wasn't allowed to know. Yet, Lydia had held it. She had gone into his messages and typed those words to me while he sat right there.

The betrayal felt like a heavy weight in my stomach.

A hot tear escaped and ran down my face, leaving a salty trail. I glanced down at the passenger seat where the documents sat, the papers I had spent an hour searching for, nearly hyperventilatin because I was so afraid of making him angry. I had rushed there to be a good wife, to save his day, only to realize I was the punchline of a joke I didn't even know was being told.

I looked back at the road, my hands shaking so hard I could feel the vibrations through the steering wheel. I gripped it tighter, my knuckle aching, trying to steady myself. The silence in the car was deafening, filled only by the sound of my own ragged breathing and the realization that the woman from his past had more access to his life than the woman sharing his bed.

I wasn't just a wife to him; I was a nuisance he tolerated, while she was the one who held the phone.

———————————————

The rain started as a drizzle and turned into a heavy, drumming against the roof. It was the kind of storm that made the world feel small and dark. I stood by the window, pulling my sweater tight around me, watching the blurred headlights of cars passing by.

Every time a pair of lights slowed down near our driveway, my heart skipped. Maybe he was home. Maybe he realized how cruel he had been and was coming back to fix it. I kept my phone in my hand, checking the screen every few minutes, waiting for a text or a call that said *I’m sorry* or *I'm on my way.*

Hours passed. The house felt too big and too quiet. Then, finally, the phone buzzed. My heart leapt into my throat when I saw his name on the screen.

"Hello? Dave?" I answered quickly, my voice thick with relief.

"I need you to do something," he said. No hello. No apology. His voice was loud, and I could hear the tumping bass of music and people laughing in the background. He was at a club.

"Dave, it's pouring rain out here," I said, my voice trembling. "I thought you were coming home."

"Listen to me," he snapped, ignoring my words. "Lydia is on her monthly flow. She needs you to go to the store and buy some sanitary pads. Bring them to 'The Vault downtown. We’re in the VIP section."

The silence on my end was heavy. I looked at the rain lashing against the glass. He wanted me to drive back out in a storm, after the humiliation this afternoon, to deliver pads to the woman who was currently sitting in a club with my husband.

"Dave, you're at a club with her?" I whispered. "And you want *me* to"?

"Just do it, okay? She’s embarrassed and she can’t leave the bathroom. Don't be difficult. Just get here."

The line went dead. I stood there in the dark living room, staring at the blank screen of my phone. My hands started to shake all over again, but this time, it wasn't just fear. It was the cold, sharp realization that he didn't just dislike me. He wanted to break me.