The Other Mrs Novels & Stories

“Who the h*ll are you?” Austin tugged at his collar as he spoke in a tone that contrasted with his usual gentlemanly appearance. “I-I’m Mrs. Moore. We’ve met before.” The woman sounded slightly upset but spoke in an ingratiating manner. Austin had no idea who she was. “Mrs. Moore? Which one? I don’t know a Mrs. Moore!” Besides his relatives and a few friends, Austin had little interaction with women, let alone someone else’s wife. As the woman said she was Mrs. Moore, Austin thought he would not know such a person. Plus, why would he be in contact with someone else’s wife?

"What? You're too private, Ms. Martin. I wonder who will be the lucky guy?" "Oh... Celine. She hasn't moved on from her ex. Don't ask her." Mrs. Gutierrez revealed. Ex? I wonder who the ex she’s talking about. Or just Rome? "Ex? You had an ex? Who?" Mrs. Antoinette Cartier seemed so intrigued. "None other than Rome De Herrera," Mrs. Gutierrez announced then simply smirked at me. As if I will pathetically play her game… no way! I will not engage with her nonsense. It’s not worth the effort.

"Always like what?" He was about to respond when a lady interrupted us. It was Mrs. Pearson—or was it Preston? Another woman accompanied her. They both appeared to be in their mid-sixties. I recognized Mrs. Pearson, but from their expressions, it was clear they had come to ask about what I had mentioned earlier. "Aren't you a fine young man?" Mrs. Preston remarked, standing before us, more specifically, before Sebastian. I studied the women with a small smile etched on my face, waiting for them to ask their questions and leave.

"You weren't. You aren't. You deserve to be someone's first choice. And we're here to help you recognize when you're not." The applause was thunderous. After the gala, as Alexander and I were leaving, a woman approached me. She was probably in her fifties, elegant in a navy dress, her eyes kind but serious. "Mrs. Calvert? I'm Christine Morrison. Miles Morretti's mother." I froze. I hadn't seen Miles's mother since before the third wedding. Hadn't spoken to her since everything fell apart. "Mrs. Morrison," I said carefully. "I'm surprised to see you here."

Attractive people dressed in uniform work diligently. Soon, an older woman in a long, flowing, red dress says, "Hello, young ladies. I'm the Head Mistress of this home, Madame Knight, but everyone calls me Mama." Mama is wonderful. She leads us to a lovely suite. Surprisingly, the room is modern but has ritualistic aspects. Once Mama leaves, Maureen checks the drawers and says, "No Bible?" Suddenly, she drops to the floor and looks underneath the bed. I laugh, "What are you doing?"

Then Mom rushed to Laila's side, and Dad and Simon followed close behind. They all surrounded her, and it was the perfect picture of a loving family. Only I stood alone in the corner, like an outsider who didn't belong.

I asked. "Excuse me, the patient needs to rest now because at any moment we will take him to the OR because he has other illnesses besides the illness he has now according to the results," Doc said. "Please, let's leave him alone so he can rest." A nurse said before saying goodbye and leaving.

I walked down the corridor, my heels clicking a steady, unyielding rhythm until I reached the double doors of Room 314. Standing right outside the ward, pacing back and forth with a crumpled tissue in her hands, was a middle-aged woman in a faded floral blouse. Mrs. Gable. The neighbor from the phone. She looked older than I remembered, her face lined with years of witnessing things she couldn't change. Her hair had gone completely gray, and she'd gained weight around her middle - the physical manifestation of carrying other people's burdens.

My father's temper flared even more. "Are they trying to pull something like getting pregnant before marriage and fighting Dylan for the family's assets? I'm going back to the hospital to beat him senseless!" Right then, my mother's phone rang. She answered impatiently. "Yes?" A voice came through from the other end. "Hello, is this Mr. Curtis Skinner's mother? I'm calling from the hospital morgue. Mr. Skinner's body has been here for two weeks. When will you be coming to take care of the arrangements?"

He had just looked at me for a moment in the way he looked at things he was not going to comment on and then said the car is downstairs and that was that. The door opened. Margaret Rowe was not what I expected. I do not know exactly what I had been expecting. Something more formidable perhaps. More visibly strategic. The kind of woman who made you feel the assessment happening in real time. She was elegant. That was the first thing. Not in an effortful way. In the way that some people are just built with a particular quality that has nothing to do with what they are wearing or how they are standing. She was in her early sixties. Dark hair going silver at the temples. Beckett's eyes exactly.