The Wife Next Door Novels & Stories

Yet. At first, I kept my head down. I didn’t want to get involved. I wasn’t sure how long I’d even be here. But over time, people started to notice, especially the woman next door. For weeks, I saw her—watering the plants in the morning, unloading groceries with her little girl, or walking up the driveway in flats and a tote bag slung over her shoulder. The house next door was beautiful, and I’d always wondered who could afford something like that on a quiet street like ours.

A man who lived four doors down from me back in Venice, a man who I just got to know his name a few days ago despite four years of living across the hall from him, was somehow standing in front of me in Helsinki like the distance between those two facts meant absolutely nothing to him. He stepped inside slowly, unhurried, gaze settling on me with that same infuriating calm I remembered from a bar floor covered in broken glass and blood that hadn't been his. "Small world," he said, like that explained anything at all. I didn't move. Didn't breathe, for a second.

"I thought you forgot me. You got yourself a new daughter, now watch how you lose her!" "Stop it, Ema! I don't want to lose her too." "I died a day to my wedding mother, she's already married. Tick... Tock!" "You're wrong!" Mrs Contreras yelled at the ghost and closed her eyes to stop the figure from haunting her. "Who are you talking to?" The neighbor inquired. He was still here. "Give me your phone." Mrs. Contreras pleaded, ignoring the man's concern. "Try not to damage it again." The man cautioned before handing it over.

I guess you could say she was a house help, but I could tell that she meant so much more to the family. My parents doted on her and did most things on their own anyway, in fact, it seemed like they kept her here as more of a companion than a help. "So, who lives next door?" I questioned as we waited for some parfait, curiosity of the man I had seen earlier getting to me. "Next door?" My mother looked at me confused for a second before her eyes lit up in realization. "Is that Damon Anderson? Yes, well a young man by name of Damon crowther Anderson he visits here once in a while, he lives next door."

Just as l was staring, Alecia all of the sudden hooked her arm into mine and tugged me past them and into the house next door. John wasn't lying when he said it was a small party. It was nothing like ours from last night. There were literally less than twenty people here and most of them stayed in their own little groups. "John", Alecia beamed but while pulling me to him. "Where can two sexy ladies get a drink from around here?", She leaned forward and gave him a peck on his lips but she didn't pull her lips away quickly.

Carol said, not sure that she had heard him well. “That’s right, my dear. We are now next-door neighbors…or at least not exactly next door, considering how big this property is. I and my wife bought the property next to this one so that we can be close to you guys, and so that my wife would not feel too lonely when I’m gone.” He told Carol, leaving her to gape at him.

My roommate, John Swift, asked in shock, “Pete, are you throwing that away? I thought you cherished that photo a lot.” I shook my head and cut Bella out of the family portrait. I tore it into pieces. John seemed to understand. “Pete, is your wife alive?” I pulled out my phone. Someone had sent me a text two weeks ago. [Bella’s still alive.] There was a photo attached to the message. It was a selfie of Bella and Carlson. Two weeks ago, I found out that my wife, who had supposedly been dead for five years, was still alive. When I first found out the news, I could not even sleep.

He squeezed Wendy's waist, then shot me a mocking glance. "Her sleepwalking only gets better when she's on my bed. You'll have to put up with it." Wendy's silence felt like a bucket of ice water being poured over me. Ever since Julian moved in next door a month ago, her sleepwalking had gone from once a month to every single night. To stop her from wandering off, I used to tie her hand to mine before going to sleep. But the next morning, she cried and called the police, accusing me of abuse.

But when I opened the door, it wasn't my wife standing there. It was Ramona Lincoln, my wife's best friend. She wore a tight black bodycon dress that hugged every curve. Her breasts strained against the fabric, full and round, impossible to ignore. The hem barely grazed her thighs, leaving her long, slender legs on full display—sheer black stockings giving way to a teasing glimpse of bare skin at the top. I stood there, stunned. My body reacted instantly. I'd been expecting my wife, so I'd answered the door in nothing but loose shorts. The tent I was pitching was unmistakably obvious.

My neighbour's wife is a young, very good looking half Chinese girl called Clara. She is slim and barely 5' tall, and so looks tiny. But she has thick black hair and brown eyes, nice little tits, long slender legs for her height, and a neat figure with a very cute round bum. Her husband Jack is a little older than Clara, and to my good fortune, he has developed a desire to see his young wife getting used. Last night he invited me along to watch and take notes about what was going on, when he and Clara were to visit a couple that he knew, Roy and June.