Dear Husband, We were never Married!

“You’re disobeying me now?” he repeated.

Scott’s voice snapped at my ear like a whip. His eyes were wide with disbelief, the kind that made me want to laugh if I wasn’t so exhausted.

“No,” I said, my throat raw. “I’m just tired. I got hurt, Scott. Didn’t I call you?”

His expression flickered — the mask slipping back into place, the apologetic husband, the sweet savior he liked to play for everyone else’s benefit.

“Oh, baby, I thought you were joking,” he crooned, stepping forward, brushing a hand down my cheek as if that would wipe away the bruises I still felt on my ribs.

“Why didn’t you tell me again? Where are you hurt? We’ll find who did this to you, huh? They’ll pay. You should lie down. I’ll take care of you—”

A sharp scream cut through the corridor.

“Help! Scott!” Jasmine’s voice — sharp, desperate.

I didn’t even get to feel what betrayal tasted like because Scott didn’t spare me another glance. He spun on his heel like I wasn’t even there. “Jasmine! I’m here! I’m coming!” I heard him shout as he disappeared into her room.

All I could do was stand there, staring at the empty space where he’d just been. Then I laughed. A bitter sound, more air than humor. I didn’t know whether I was laughing at him or myself anymore.

From the room, I could hear him: “It’s okay, Jasmine, I’m here. I’ll call the doctor, don’t worry.” Then, loud enough for the whole hallway to hear: “Nadine! Call the doctor!”

Like I was a maid. Like I wasn’t the woman who’d wasted years pretending to be his wife. I turned to walk away but Jasmine’s weak, syrupy voice called out, “Nadine! Wait, please come here!”

Before I knew it, I was at her bedside, staring down at her delicate, porcelain-doll face, the one that had always won people over so easily.

“Oh, my best friend,” she sighed dramatically. “I missed you so much. Scott told me everything, about how you’ve been taking care of me, and my brother, the house… thank you. Thank you for everything you’ve done while I was gone… and now I’m here.”

The words tasted rotten.

My hand moved before my brain could stop it. I pushed her shoulder — not hard, but enough for her to stumble back against the pillows.

She gasped. “Sister… what did I do? Why did you push me?” She looked at Scott, wide-eyed.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Scott rounded on me, fury making his neck flush red. “Didn’t you see she’s still weak? She could’ve fallen! She’s hurt!”

I laughed dryly. “I’m hurt too, remember? Or did you forget? I didn’t push her. She pressed against me. It hurts.”

Scott’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t even say sorry nicely? Jasmine’s always been good to you—”

“Scott, don’t say that to my best friend,” Jasmine cut in with her soft, trembling voice, tears brimming like an actress on cue. “I didn’t know she was hurt. Nadine, I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me.”

Scott folded his arms, the decision made. “Apologize to her, Nadine.”

“No,” I whispered.

His eyes darkened. “Then you’re leaving me no choice. I’ll lock you up in our house until you learn how to respect your own family.”

I felt the laugh bubbling up but it came out as a scoff instead. I could see it so clearly now — how he had shown me his true face the moment Jasmine opened her eyes. I was nothing again. Less than nothing.

“Lock me up then,” I muttered. I looked him straight in the eye. “You never even cared that I lost our child.”

His face twisted, not understanding the last words I said. “What did you say?”

But I was already walking away. He never cared to follow because Jasmine told him to let me go… I was just mad and would be okay in a while.

Well, I would never be okay.

When I got home, I went straight to the little altar I’d built for my father — and now, my baby. I lit a candle for the child I’d never get to meet, my hand steady even as the tears blurred my vision.

The ping of my phone startled me. It was my mother: Everything will be prepared in three days. The helicopter will be waiting with your fiance. Come home.

I clutched the phone to my chest and nodded to no one but myself. Three more days. That was all I had to survive.

Hours later, Scott came back. He didn’t even glance at the candle burning for our child. Of course he didn’t. He just looked at me with that fake, exhausted smile, and said, “I’m sorry, baby. I overreacted earlier. Jasmine wants a banquet tomorrow. You’ll handle it, right?”

I laughed but it came out cracked and raw. “Tomorrow? That’s impossible.”

His smile vanished. “I’m not asking if you can do it. I’m telling you to do it.”

Jasmine appeared behind him, wrapping her frail arms around his waist. “Scott, it’s okay… we can do it next week—”

“No. It has to be now,” Scott said. “Everyone must know you’re alive. They won’t dare touch you again.” His eyes cut to me. “Nadine will handle it.”

And that was that. They left me there — like a servant — to make call after call, pulling favors, arranging everything for the woman who’d ordered me dead.

I didn’t sleep that night. I didn’t dare. I worked until my fingers were raw, the candle at my father’s altar burning down to a stub.

Hours before dawn, I passed their bedroom. The door was ajar and the soft sound of moaning spilled into the hallway.

I stood there for a moment. I didn’t cry. There were no tears left for them.

I went to my room, pulled out the wedding gown I never wore. The ring he gave me and the copy of their marriage certificate. I dropped them in a box, along with a note about the baby he’d never cared to meet.

I scheduled the delivery for our wedding anniversary, no, their wedding anniversary — the same day I’d disappear forever.

When I finally drifted off, I barely heard Scott come in. He went straight for the vase my father made before he died — the last piece I had left.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ll have this. Jasmine wants it.”

“No,” I whispered. “Please, Scott, not that. That’s all I have left of my father. You know that! Why are you giving it to Jasmine?”

He didn’t even look at me. “Because she said she wants it and she'll give it to the doctor who had operated on her as a thank you because she was great now. It’s just a vase, Nadine. You have plenty.”

When I reached for it, he shoved me aside. I hit the floor, biting back a cry.

He never even looked back.

--

The day of the banquet was almost beautiful, if you ignored the fact that I was nothing more than their well-dressed maid.

Jasmine lay on her chaise like a delicate queen, smiling sweetly at the guests who flocked to see the miracle — the perfect woman, alive after three years in a coma. Scott hovered by her side, his every gesture dripping devotion like poison I once used to drink willingly.

I moved through the ballroom with a tray in my hands, nodding, bowing, smiling as if none of it tore me apart inside.

When I brought Jasmine her wine, she clasped my wrist with her too-soft fingers. “Nadine, this is lovely. Truly, thank you for all this.” She tilted her head, her syrupy tone slipping like a knife under my ribs. “You know, your husband really loves me. Don’t you think?”

I said nothing.

She laughed lightly, as if it were the funniest thing in the world. “He did this for me — all of this. He’d do anything for me, you know. So, tell me… what are your plans for your wedding anniversary?” Her smile widened, crocodile-like. “I mean, is it really your anniversary?"

Of course, she knew. They had been fooling me since.

I stared right through her. “Don’t worry, I’m leaving so you can have fun with him during our anniversary,” I whispered.

She blinked, caught off guard for a second. But then her grin returned, wider than ever. “Good,” she said, her eyes cold. “Run away, then.”

I turned away before she could see the tremble in my hands. I stood behind the crowd for hours, watching them bask in the glow of my work.

Guests laughed, music flowed, Jasmine twirled around Scott like a silk ribbon and I wondered when I’d ever felt that wanted. Maybe never.

Then it happened.