The Wife He Left Behind Novels & Stories

Her laughter, her voice were no longer there, the house was empty, yes, his wife had left! And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get out of that lethargy that Arabella had left him in. "Fernando, son... you can't go on like this," his mother said as she bent down to pick up the cigarette butts that covered the living room floor. "Like what, Mom?" he replied, his voice hoarse. "My wife left me. Nothing makes sense now." He took another drink, but she approached him firmly and snatched the glass from his hands.

Without even looking at me. Just like that, he ended the conversation— leaving me standing alone in the middle of the room, with nothing but the image of my husband and another woman, arm in arm, burned into my mind.

She was in a black evening gown, her presence commanding, flanked by six large men. "Well, if it isn't our dear ex-son-in-law," she said, her voice dripping with scorn. "I hear things haven't been going so well for you. The Don has lost faith, business is tanking, and the FBI is sniffing around?" Dante's face grew even darker. "Sofia, I'm just here to take my wife home." "Wife?" Mom chuckled. "My daughter divorced you two years ago. What do you call this, exactly? Stalking?"

Her hand was on his arm, her face tilted up toward his. They weren't touching inappropriately, but the intimacy in their posture made my chest tight. I turned away before they could see me and walked back inside on with my legs shaking. "Isn't that Jason Hartley's wife?" someone whispered behind me. "Poor thing. Everyone knows he never got over Isabelle Brown." "I heard he only married her because his family pressured him to move on." "She must know she's just a replacement." I kept walking, head high, dying inside.

He gestured toward a nearby garden bench. They walked over, the gravel crunching beneath their shoes, and sat. “My great-grandfather never really retired,” Walker began. “His wife begged him for years, but the sea kept calling him back. When his wife had her last child and he still wasn’t there, she planted the field. When he returned and saw it, he was so taken by the flowers that he finally quit the sea. Whenever he felt the urge to leave again, he came here instead.” Emily listened quietly, eyes fixed on the swaying flowers.

Patience is simply confidence wearing a quieter coat. I learned that lesson properly at forty-one, watching my own husband's company get quietly, legally, devastatingly stolen out from under him by a partner he'd trusted for a decade a man who smiled at our dinner table twice a month for years, who held our children, who structured the buyout so carefully that even our own lawyers couldn't find grounds for complaint, and who then went on to build an empire from the foundation my husband had laid, while my husband spent his remaining years quietly drinking himself into an early grave over a betrayal no court would ever recognize as one.

“I have every right to be here. I’m picking up my son’s things.” “Your son?” Catherine laughed out very loud. “You abandoned him. You left him here with Adrian and walked away.” “I didn’t abandon anyone. I left Adrian. Not my children.” “Same thing.” “It’s not the same thing at all.” Vanessa stepped closer. “You’re pathetic, you know that? You couldn’t handle being a wife so you ran away. And now you’re back because what? You won in court?”

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

My mom's dying wish was to see me marry Callum Sinclair. Callum, who lived and breathed surgery, finally agreed to put down the scalpel and come with me to get our marriage license. But just as our number was called over the speaker, my best friend, Helena, stopped him. "The cryo-transplant in Cardiology has gone wrong. The heart muscle is rejecting irreversibly after rewarming." Callum walked away from the window at once. I grabbed his arm. "It's our turn. Sign first, then go. It's three minutes." Callum yanked his hand free. "A life is on the line. I'm a doctor. Three minutes is enough to kill someone." "But my mom is dying too. She wants to see me get married." My tears soaked t

We chose to stay together that night, and for a few hours, I allowed myself to believe I was still the woman he wanted. He held me close and whispered my name. I held on to him, hoping the warmth between us meant something beyond that single night. For once, I didn't want to think about Isabella, Margaret, or the growing distance between my husband and me. I wanted to believe we were still husband and wife. The next morning, I woke before him. When he stirred, I waited for him to look at me, to say something about what had happened. He rubbed his forehead and sat up.