Romans & histoires The Wife Who Knew Everything

My hand gripping the teacup suddenly tightened. Scalding tea splashed onto the back of my hand, but I felt nothing. Cassie watched my reaction, a flash of triumphant satisfaction crossing her eyes. She said, "20 years ago, your father, Richard Lambert, was Haven City's most famous genius designer, and my father, Bobby Wynter, was just his assistant. Your father was incredibly talented and designed a revolutionary piece of jewelry called Eternal Heart that caught the Zaharan Royal Family's attention."

My body tensed. “Mom?” Isabella whispered. The woman looked directly at her daughter. “Listen carefully.” “What?” “If anything happens to me—” “No.” “Listen.” Tears filled Isabella’s eyes again. “No.” The woman continued anyway. “The truth is hidden inside Clara Blackwood’s journal.” My heart stopped. Everything stopped. Clara. My wife. My dead wife. The room exploded. “What?” “That’s impossible.” “Clara?” Even Gabriel looked stunned. The woman nodded quickly. “She knew everything.”

His heart was thumping uncontrollably in his chest. “Do you know what I like to eat? Do you know what my hobbies are or what songs I like to listen to? Do you know where I like to go? I was your wife, and I knew everything about you, but you knew nothing about me… Don’t you think that you’re ridiculous for not knowing anything about your wife now? But who caused all this? You did!”

Dangerously quiet. Because everyone involved knew what that meant. Alex knew too much. Far too much. And if he reached Patricia before they did... Everything would collapse. Back inside Alison's office, Obadiah continued. "I was married." Patricia listened. Barely. Her entire body felt numb. "My wife and I were having problems." He laughed bitterly. "More problems than either of us admitted." The old man looked toward the window. Toward the dark Nakuru skyline. "Then I met a woman."

As soon as I sent my location, a bodyguard slapped my phone out of my hand. A man and a woman stood at the hotel entrance, staring at me with mocking smiles. "Well, well. If it isn't the famous Finn Kirkland. What's wrong? Money can't save your mother now?" Wendy Lowell is the only person in the world who can perform my mom's surgery. Money has lost its value. She hated my mom now. No amount of money could change that.

I shut the door behind us and locked it. Cat stood in the center of the room, arms crossed, chin lifted. Defiant. "You want to yell at me?" she asked. "Go ahead. Get it out of your system." I stared at her. At this woman I'd married. This stranger. "Who the hell are you?" I demanded. "You know who I am." "No," I said, stepping closer. "I know you're Catarina Vitale. I know you're my wife. I know you just killed three men without breaking a sweat. But I don't know who you are."

I was accompanying my mother-in-law to our family-owned hospital for a follow-up appointment. She had developed a lifelong gynecological condition from complications during my wife's birth. A muscular man passed by, recoiled in disgust, and shuffled to the other side of the aisle before shouting for a nurse. "What kind of hospital is this? You just let any filthy person sit in the waiting area? This old hag reeks. Is nobody going to do anything about it?" The nurse hurried over and recognized my mother-in-law. She held up her hands. "Sir, this patient is here for a scheduled follow-up. We can't turn her away." The man lost it. "What part of that don't you understand? Take this old hag

> "I'm the cold, detached wife. I'm the emotionally unavailable physician who spent more time in the trauma bays than in her own home. I was entirely too focused on my own career advancement to notice a lonely, neglected husband." Thelma looked utterly crushed. The absolute silence that followed was all the confirmation I required. I nodded slowly, the pieces of the puzzle locking into perfect alignment. The script practically wrote itself. The highly successful, unyielding female doctor; the busy, neglectful mother; the tragic, cast-aside husband who simply fell into the arms of a warm, supportive young woman. You could almost hear the whispers spreading through the manicured lawns of River

Her voice, when it came, came out sharp and loud. “You knew she was sabotaging my marriage? And you didn’t tell me?” she said. “You knew?” “I know. And I’m so sorry. I am so sorry, Sophia.” “Sorry?” Sophia pressed both her hands against her face. Her head was spinning. “This is insane. This is actually insane. You knew. For two whole years. You knew what she was doing. You watched me cry over messages that never came. You sat with me while I thought Adrian didn’t care about me. You watched me think I wasn’t enough for my own husband. And you said nothing? You said absolutely nothing?”

Before tossing my wife's jacket in the wash, I checked the pockets and found a bill for maintenance fees. The address was for the apartment directly above ours. My wife, Teresa Payne, was listed as the owner. I stood there gripping the bill, my fingers going cold. For the past six months, she always seemed to be working late, often not coming home until well after dark. More than once, I noticed her car in the garage long after she left for work. Whenever I asked, she would say, "Gas is so expensive now. It's easier to just take the subway. Besides, it saves us a little money." I actually appreciated her watching our spending. Now, it all made sense. On those nights she claimed to be