The Unwanted Wife

A mountain of presents, wrapped in shiny paper and tied with extravagant bows, threatened to topple over on the far side of the room. On the mahogany table, a sea of cards gleamed under the soft light. I picked one up, its edges embossed with a delicate silver pattern.  The familiar, pointed handwriting of Vivienne, one of Regan's business associates' wives made me almost sigh in dismay.

"Dearest Anastasia," the card gushed, the words shimmering with fake sincerity. "Happy Birthday! Wishing you all the joy and fortune you deserve.  Perhaps we can schedule that charity luncheon we discussed?  Regan mentioned such a wonderful idea..."  The card fluttered from my grasp, landing face down on the floor.  Charity.  Luncheon.  Always something they wanted. 

“As expected,” I muttered.

The silence swallows the room, the only sound is the relentless ticking of the clock. My fingertips painted a crimson danced a nervous rhythm around the stem of my wine glass. The heavy damask drapes, a deep shade of merlot, pooled on the floor like spilled blood. A ruby pendant, the matching set to the earrings adorning my ears, dangled from a delicate silver chain around my neck, catching the flickering light and throwing a series of tiny red suns across the mahogany table.

Red, it had always been red. a bold choice. The color of passion, of power. but red was always my shield, my armor against the world.

I looked at the food on the long table in front of me. I had spent hours preparing the meal, a feast fit for two, but once again, Regan was nowhere to be found. The candles cast dancing shadows on the walls, mocking the loneliness that engulfed me. Tears threatened to spill as I realized another birthday would pass with me being alone.

As if on cue, Susan, our head housekeeper, a tall woman in her fifties with kind eyes and silver hair that was pulled back into a neat bun that showed off her calm demeanor appeared at the door. She had been with my family for as long as I could remember.

She extended a small box towards me swathed in red paper and ribbon. "For you, Miss”

"Is this from grandpa?" My voice wavered slightly as I took the box.

Susan nodded in response.

As I carefully untied the ribbon and opened the envelope, a small letter from my grandfather greeted me. His words were penned with a tenderness that brought a lump to my throat.

I know you still cannot play the piano, but I believe that you can someday. I remember how you wanted books swirled to collect music books when you were young. I hope you include this in your collection someday.

Happy birthday, Anastasia.

-Grandpa Alonso

I reached for the lid of the box and lifted it, revealing a beautifully bound music book inside. My heart skipped a beat as I ran my fingers over the intricate design on the cover. But I cannot use it right now or anytime soon.

"Bring it to the piano room, please,"

Susan's eyes reflected a sadness I knew all too well, but she nodded silently. Then one of our maids approached, her footsteps tentative. "Miss, Atty. Morgan is here to see you."

I sighed, the weight of the decision I had been avoiding for ages pressing down on me once again. "Send him in.”

Moments later, Atty. Morgan entered the room, his demeanor smooth and confident as ever. He was an old man of average height, with a neatly trimmed beard that added to his distinguished appearance. His dark suit was impeccably tailored, and his eyes, sharp and intelligent, seemed to take in everything at a glance.

"Ah, my dear, it's a pleasure to see you again.”

“Atty. Morgan, it's always good to see you. Please, have a seat." I nodded curtly; my gaze fixed on the papers he held in his hands. "What brings you here today, Morgan?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"You know why I am here today, Miss Anastasia. We have been doing this for years now.” He took a seat across from me as his gaze went around the room. “And for years, no one is still here to celebrate your birthday with you.”

“That is not true. You always visit me thus making you there on my birthdays.”  

“Yes, but only to bring the papers for the inheritance your mother left you," he pushed the documents towards me. "It's time to settle this matter once and for all, Miss Anastasia."

My fingers hovered over the papers. "I'm well aware of my mother's wishes, Morgan. But this is a significant decision."

"You know your mother's wishes, Miss. It's time to honor her memory and secure your future."

I bit back any sign of hesitation. “This is not about guilt. It’s about timing and strategy.”

He sighed as if expecting a formal answer and stood up, taking the papers with him. “I have been your mother’s lawyer for years. And I know she would never want you to blame yourself for what happened. It is not your fault.”

“Thank you, Attorney.”

“Happy birthday, Miss Anastasia” he softly said and left the room.

As the door closed behind Atty. Morgan, I slumped back into my chair, the weight of his words heavy on my shoulders. The room felt emptier now.

The Stasia's Legacy Gallery and Anastasia Hope Foundation were the two things my mother left in my name. I was 15 years old when she took her own life. Something I witnessed before my eyes. My family blamed me for it, and I also did the same.

Hours passed in a blur, the hands of the clock ticking away the moments until it was well past midnight. Yet, I remained seated at the table.

"Miss, would you like me to reheat your meal?" Susan asked.

I shook my head and reached for the bottle of red wine, pouring myself another glass. The alcohol burned as it slid down my throat. The pain of three years of marriage without a single celebration weighed heavily on me. Regan had never once remembered my birthday or any other important occasion.

“No need. Thank you”

“You should sleep now, Miss.”

I took the silver steak knife.  As I held it up, I caught a glimpse of myself.  My reflection stared back.  My dark hair accentuated by the sharp angles of my jawline, was left loose, cascading down my back in a mane of midnight waves.  My jade-like green eyes, usually pools of icy control, held a storm of unshed tears threatening to break.  The crimson lipstick, my usual armor of strength and confidence, seemed a shade paler tonight, mirroring the pallor of my skin.  But the tremor in my hand was the only betrayal I'd allow. This was my storm to weather alone. 

"Do you ever think there's something wrong with me, Susan?" I blurted out, the words tumbling from my lips before I could stop them.

"Oh, my dear, you are perfect just the way you are.”

“Am I?” I put down the steak knife and reached for a cigarette. "Funny, isn't it? How my husband sees the opposite,"

“That’s not true, Miss.”

The smoke swirled around me as I exhaled. "I'll be fine, Susan. You should go get some rest now."

"Are you sure? I don't mind staying a little longer."

"No, really. I will just finish this glass and then I'll head to bed," I said, gesturing towards the wine in my hand.

Reluctantly, Susan nodded, her gaze lingering on me for a moment longer before she finally agreed. "Alright then. But please, do not hesitate to call if you need anything," she said softly before turning to leave the room.

As the door closed behind her, I sat in silence for a few moments. With a sigh, I finally set my glass down, the room spinning slightly as I stood up. Despite the dizziness, I knew I had a high tolerance for alcohol – it had become my only companion after years of disappointment and heartache. As I made my unsteady way across the room, I couldn't help but reflect on the irony of it all. Here I was, celebrating another year of life with nothing but a bottle of wine to keep me company.