Brenda’s Second Life

"Did you hear me? What are you dawdling for?" Gabriel's mother snapped, giving me an impatient shove when I didn’t answer.

I stumbled from the push and caught myself against the edge of the bed.

In the mirror, a face stared back—pale, haggard, yet unnervingly young.

This was me at twenty. Brenda.

I took a deep breath, forcing the churning emotions down. "I heard you," I said, my voice raw.

Once I’d changed, I stepped out of the hospital room.

At the end of the corridor stood a man in a white shirt, his posture straight and proud. This was Gabriel. Gabriel, fifty years younger.

Handsome. Refined—the fantasy of every woman at the Oakwood Machinery Plant.

Once, I too had been fooled by that pretty exterior.

Beside him stood a woman in a floral dress, delicate and soft-featured—his widowed “childhood friend,” Sophia. She was looking down, whispering something, her eyes rimmed red and on the verge of tears.

Gabriel’s brow was furrowed, his eyes full of tender concern as he murmured reassurances to her.

I stood a short distance away, watching the scene coldly. How familiar. For fifty years, this same play had run on repeat. One teardrop from Sophia, and Gabriel’s world would collapse. I was always the inconvenient backdrop.

"Gabriel, it’s all my fault. If I weren’t so weak, you wouldn’t have had to rush me to the hospital in the middle of the night… causing Sister-in-law to misunderstand…" Sophia said, her voice taking on a saccharine tone.

"Don’t talk nonsense. We grew up together. Your problems are mine," Gabriel replied, utterly matter-of-fact.

Ha.

A cold laugh echoed inside me. I’d swallowed those lies before.

He’d claimed their bond was pure, like siblings. He’d called her a pitiful widow with a child. He’d said I, as his wife, should be understanding.

So I was understanding. For fifty years. And my reward? He couldn’t even remember my name.

I was done being understanding.

I walked toward them, my heels clicking sharply against the concrete floor.

Gabriel and Sophia both turned.

Seeing me, a flash of irritation crossed Gabriel’s face—that familiar annoyance of an important moment interrupted. "What took you so long? Let’s go," he said stiffly, as if I weren’t his wife who’d just given birth, but some incompetent underling.

Sophia instantly adopted a timid expression, shrinking slightly behind Gabriel. "Sister-in-law… please don’t misunderstand, I—"

"Misunderstand what?" I looked at her, my tone calm.

She faltered, her eyes growing even redder as she shot a pleading glance toward Gabriel.

Gabriel immediately frowned at me, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "What’s with your attitude? Sophia is unwell. Don’t provoke her."

Watching him shield her, I felt nothing. The part of my heart that had been flayed to death didn’t even twinge. There was only a hollow, endless cold.

"Let’s go to the records office. For the birth certificate."

I couldn’t be bothered with them any longer. Turning, I walked away.

Gabriel seemed taken aback by my sudden compliance. He paused before following.

Sophia trailed along right beside him, as if she were the lady of the house.

At the records office, the clerk at the counter didn’t look up. "Father’s name: Gabriel. Mother? What’s the mother’s name?"

Gabriel opened his mouth out of habit, then froze.

Again.

Just like last time. He’d hesitated then, too, and I’d ended up writing my own name on the form. Back then, I’d made excuses for him—told myself he was just careless with details.

What a colossal joke.

How could a man forget his own wife’s name?

Unless she had never mattered to begin with.

"Mother’s name?" the clerk repeated, impatient.

Gabriel’s brow furrowed deeper, his face a mix of strained effort and faint embarrassment. He nudged me with his elbow, his voice a low command. "You tell her."

I didn’t look at him. Meeting the clerk’s gaze directly, I said, "My name is Brenda," each word clear and distinct.

The woman glanced up, her pen scratching across the paper. "Child’s name?"

"Joseph," Gabriel cut in, a note of haste in his voice, as if reclaiming some lost dignity.

"Alright, form’s filled. Go get it stamped."

Gabriel picked up the form and turned to leave.

I reached out and pressed my hand down on the paper.

He turned back, startled. "What are you doing?"

I looked at him, my gaze as cold as midwinter ice. "Gabriel. I want a divorce."