The Wife He Didn't See Novels & Stories

"Don't go. I was wrong. Come back to me…" In an instant, Silvia's blood ran cold. Hadn't he said his wife was dead? Her eyes swept the room. There wasn't a single photo on the vanity, the wardrobe, or the bedside table. How could a devoted husband not keep even one picture of his late wife?

All I saw were the pitiful looks people gave me. If I hadn’t happened to see Brittany Donovan’s post, I might still be in the dark. And he still had the nerve to say I wasn’t patient? At the end of the day, he just didn’t want to have a wedding with me. He didn’t want to admit to the world that I was his wife.

"Jerome, you can't be this cold. Talia's your wife! You're really sending her to prison yourself? Without her, these kids won't have a mother!" It made my stomach turn. Now he just said it out loud—she's my wife. No shame. I almost wanted to slap myself for bringing him into her life. "You good? Talia's your wife. Your kids' mom. What's she got to do with me? You wanted what wasn't yours. You stabbed me in the back. Now you pay." As they dragged Talia off, she twisted back and spat, "I put up with being your wife for seven years—that's more than you deserved. You think you're some prize?

He stood there, the drink forgotten in his hand, watching his wife's face crumple with a grief he realized, with a sick, sinking feeling, he had never once properly witnessed before, not fully, not like this. "I don't know what happens," he said honestly. "I haven't let myself think that far ahead. I just know I can't keep pretending I didn't see what I saw today." "Then don't tell me about it," Sloane said, wiping furiously at her eyes. "Don't come home and dump this on me in the kitchen like it's a business problem you're thinking through out loud. If you're going to blow up both our lives chasing an answer, at least have the decency to figure it out somewhere I don't have to watch."

❧ “W…would you like s…some t…tea, miss?” The maid beside me stammers, eyes wide with fear. I don’t blame her. Word about Lena’s death has spread through the house, and now no one wants to come near me. “Sure. I’ll have some tea” my voice sounds cold, even to my own ears. “Has my husband returned?” “No miss. There’s still no sign of Mr. Delacruz.” The maid croaks, hands trembling by her sides.

No, he would remember that. Wouldn’t he? Her eyes answered the question before he could ask it. “You forgot where I was, Adrian.” The room suddenly felt much smaller. For several seconds neither of them spoke. Then she opened the door. “I hope your meeting goes well today.” The door closed softly behind her. Adrian remained standing beside the dining table long after she was gone. Somewhere in the city below, his wife was heading toward a presentation he knew nothing about. Somewhere in the past, she had walked out of a hospital and realized she could no longer rely on the person she had married.

“⁠You⁠’re a⁠b‌out to.” “I wan⁠t​‌ t​o see it.” “‍No.”⁠ ‌“I’m her hu‌s​ba​​nd.” ‌ “Exa⁠ctl​y.​ Which is w⁠hy you’‌re⁠ n‍ot se‍eing it.” He loo‌ked‍ a⁠t​‍ me for su​pport. I shrugg‍e​d. “She’s righ​t‍.”

Pale against his flushed skin. He'd worn it like a medal for fifteen years. The day he'd saved her from that thug. The day he'd proven he'd bleed for her. He'd told that story a hundred times. "This scar? That's the day I knew I'd marry her." And now? He remembered the elevator. Her face — exhausted, hollow-eyed, lips cracked. He'd walked past her with his arm around Rosa. Didn't even recognize his own wife. "She's not what you think. There's more to it than you know."

He nodded without arguing. For the first time, I could see how deeply the secrets of his family had damaged the marriage he had once expected me to accept without question. The address led us to a large country house surrounded by tall trees and a high stone wall. Two security guards stood near the entrance, but Adrian’s presence made them step aside after a brief phone call. Inside, the house was quiet. We found Margaret in the sitting room, calmly drinking tea as though she had been expecting us. She looked up when we entered.

“I need an investigation done. On my husband, Andrew Evans. He’s the CEO of Evans Global Holdings.” “Go on.” “I suspect he’s having an affair,” I said. “I saw him with a woman on a local livestream a few days ago. I believe her name is Victoria Dell. She’s on the Kingsten academy school board. But there's a complication. Someone at my husband's company referred to her as Mrs. Evans. And yesterday, Victoria herself claimed that her husband is the CEO of Evans Global Holdings.” “I see,” George replied. “Send me everything you have. Photos, names, locations.”