The Wife He Didn't See Novels & Stories

"I don't know who you are anymore." She turned and walked upstairs. A door closed softly. The bedroom door clicked shut. The silence that followed felt even louder. Michael remained exactly where he was.He looked toward the staircase. Then closed his eyes. He had protected the investigation. But he wasn't sure he'd protected his marriage. [OUTSIDE THE MANSION] A black sedan slowed for only a few seconds before continuing down the road. Inside Someone watched the house through a camera lens. A low voice murmured into a phone. "They're starting to turn against each other."

“I truly appreciate it.” The handshake had barely ended when a sharp voice cut through the room. “I told you he was fine, but you insisted on bringing half the neighborhood along, making it look like a funeral gathering.” The man paused mid-step and exchanged a glance with his wife before turning back. The remark did not surprise him. As neighbors, they had known her for years, and kindness had never been one of her defining qualities. “He's back, and that's all that matters,” his wife responded calmly. “If he hadn't returned, who knows what could have happened?”

He was watching the woman he had failed to see while she was still his wife. And she was moving further away from him with every passing day.

"Clara... yes, Clara..." He wasn't kissing me. He was kissing someone else entirely. His hands moved across my body, but his mind was somewhere else, with someone else. My sister. I lay beneath him in complete silence, my eyes open in the darkness, staring at nothing. His weight was on top of me, but I felt completely invisible. He finished quickly, rolled away from me, and passed out almost immediately. I lay there in the darkness, not moving, barely breathing. He'd called out another woman's name on our wedding night or was he just mistaking me for Clara?

For the first time since she walked in. Gray eyes. Cold. Clear. Unblinking. The same eyes that used to soften when I returned home years ago. The same eyes that went dead when I told her “business comes first” for the third night in a row. Now they were nothing but glass. No smile. No mercy. She shrugged. One shoulder. Barely a movement. Casual. Dismissive. Like I’d asked her about the weather. Like I’d asked her what time it was. Like five years, a marriage, and a company meant as much as “partly cloudy.”

Cassandra stared, eyes wide, red-rimmed, tears welling. "I originally wanted to snatch this woman and your wife Eleanor together in the chaos. But your wife had another man with her. They left the hotel before I could create the chaos, and they were even arm in arm... But luckily, this stupid woman was still here. She was looking for you everywhere and didn't even know I was watching her." As Dale spoke, he lit a cigarette. The tip glowed red. After a puff, he casually moved to press the butt against Cassandra's shoulder.

His fingers tightened around the papers until the paper crackled. Then he turned back to me. “We need to discuss this privately.” I shook my head. “No.” “Ava…” “I spent years discussing our marriage privately,” I said. “Nothing changed. Not once. I waited for you at night. I cancelled plans because you had something more important. I made excuses when people asked where you were. And every time, you chose her.” “I wasn’t a perfect husband,” he said. “I never claimed to be. But I never intended to destroy our family.”

My husband Michael Leigh's first love, Emily Messier, comes back from abroad and invites us to dinner. For two straight hours, Michael and Emily spend the whole time talking to each other. For half an hour, Emily keeps the conversation on me, from what I wear and what I do for a living to how much I make. "You used to go for the artsy type. Guess your taste has changed." Emily smiles and glances at me. Michael cracks open a crab leg and puts the meat on her plate before answering with a smile. "Dating and marriage are two different things." Then he turns to me. "Right?" It's the first thing he's said to me all night. I set down my fork and meet his eyes. "Right. That's why I'd never

What? Why? Is it because he’s actually married? "But we’re married, right? What are we supposed to do as a married couple?" I asked, genuinely confused. "We exist," he deadpanned. Is he serious right now? I wanted a younger husband so I could have endless sex, check off every single one of my fantasies, and show him off to the Upper East Side girls. "Then what are we going to be doing?" I asked carefully. He looked me dead in the eye, his blue gaze utterly frigid. "Either you take whatever I give you, Miss Ross, or you leave. Trust me, I’m more than happy to send you back to your handsome, wrinkled husband."

she muttered, rolling her eyes comically. "Yeah" dusting his imaginary collar. "Imma in prime-age" he raised his chin. "If you are not an old man" a pregnant pause, "then why have you not moved on," she said out of blue, looking everywhere but not her father's eyes. She didn't want to see the pain or sorrow the woman left. The woman he called wife.