He Left His Dying Wife at the Wedding for His Mistress

"Celeste? Open the door," Adrian called through the heavy oak. "Seraphina is awake, and she wants to talk to you."

I stared at the brass handle. My phone rested against my ear, Jules's silence echoing on the line.

"I'll call you back," I whispered, ending the call.

Seraphina wanted to talk. She always wanted to talk when she held the winning hand.

The crisp, cinnamon-scented air of our first Christmas as a married couple flooded my mind. The church bells ringing over the snow. The distant melody of "Jingle Bells" leaking from a neighbor's speaker.

She had dragged me away from the fireplace, away from our laughing relatives, pulling me to a freezing park bench.

"You hate me, don't you?" Seraphina had asked.

I stared at the icy pavement. "I don't know what to say."

"You hate me so much you married Adrian just because he was my boyfriend."

Fireworks exploded above the trees.

Her face illuminated in the flashes of red and gold, stained with tears.

My hands turned to ice. "I didn't know you two were together."

"Right," she scoffed.

"I didn't! We met at the library. He brought me sandwiches when I couldn't afford a meal."

She didn't answer. She just walked away into the snow.

Two days later, she left for Juilliard. My phone buzzed with her parting text.

*You let me win so many times, I'll let you have this one.*

I shoved the screen into Adrian's chest that night.

"What does this mean?" I screamed. "If you can't let her go, go be with her! Pretend you got the wrong cousin!"

"Celeste, you can't do this to me," Adrian pleaded, grabbing my wrists. "I don't even have her number. I didn't know you were related."

"What would you do if you knew?"

"I would have found you sooner." He pulled me against his chest. "I'd shut my eyes whenever she walked into a room."

I laughed. He held me tighter. I believed him.

Years passed. She returned from Juilliard broken, shivering in the summer heat, her wrists lined with silver scars.

Margaret hovered over her. I found her therapists.

Then came the family dinner.

Seraphina coughed into her napkin.

Adrian's head snapped up. His fork clattered against his plate. The pure, naked heartache in his eyes pierced straight through my chest.

I cornered him in the kitchen afterward.

"Why did you look at her like that?" I demanded.

"Enough!" Adrian slammed his hand on the marble counter. "Celeste, she's already like this. What are you making a fuss about?"

Tears spilled down my cheeks.

His anger vanished. He reached for my face.

"Sorry," he murmured, wiping my jaw. "I didn't mean to yell. We've been together so long, don't you trust me?"

I nodded. I swallowed the pain. I let the lie fester.

Then came New Year's Day. He returned from the Blackwood Corp data center project in Reykjavik.

We visited my parents. He pulled a velvet pouch from his coat.

"Your mom asked me to pick this up—said it's good for the immune system," Adrian said, handing Seraphina a bag of saffron.

He placed a small silver rune pendant on the table next to it. "And this—local craft. For protection."

I sat on the sofa, mute. I watched them. I felt like a stray dog watching the indoor pets get fed.

In the Maybach on the way home, he reached for my hand.

I yanked my fingers away.

He caught my wrist. He shoved a massive three-carat pigeon-blood ruby ring onto my left hand.

"Someone's jealous, Celeste?" he teased, rubbing my knuckle.

"You bought her gifts."

"Your mother asked me to buy the saffron," he explained. "The pendant was just sitting on a vendor's table. They said it was for protection. I grabbed it."

I stared at the pigeon-blood ruby.

"But this ring," he whispered, kissing my forehead. "I chose this for a long time. With me here, you'll always be safe."

He stroked my hair.

"Let's have a wedding," he offered softly. "I've always been sorry I didn't give you one."

Tears blurred my vision. I looked at the man I loved.

I opened my mouth to tell him the truth.

I wanted to tell him about the vomiting. The endless nights clutching the toilet.

I wanted to list the hospitals. Memorial Sloan Kettering. Mayo Clinic. Johns Hopkins.

I wanted to say the words the doctors gave me. Stage four esophageal cancer. Lymph node metastasis. Poor prognosis.

But his smile was so bright, so full of promises, I choked the words back down.

"Celeste!" Adrian pounded on the study door. "Are you listening to me?"

The memories evaporated. The silence of the penthouse rushed back in.

I stood up from the daybed. My knee throbbed against the fresh gauze.

I unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Adrian stood in the hallway, his phone extended toward me.

"She's on speaker," he said.

"Celeste?" Seraphina's weak voice drifted from the device. "Are you there?"

"I'm here," I replied, my tone flat.

"I'm so sorry about your party," she rasped. "I didn't mean to ruin your special day. I just... it hurts so much."

"You didn't ruin a party, Seraphina. You ruined my marriage."

Adrian's jaw tightened. He pulled the phone back an inch.

"Don't speak to her like that," he warned. "She just got out of surgery."

"Then why is she calling me?" I snapped.

"Because she feels guilty!"

"No, she doesn't," I stated, locking eyes with my husband. "She called to make sure you were still standing right next to her."

"Celeste, please," Seraphina sobbed through the speaker. "I just wanted to hear your voice. I just wanted to know you don't hate me."

"I don't hate you," I said. "I don't feel anything for you at all."

I reached out and pressed the red button on Adrian's screen.

The call dropped.

Adrian stared at his darkened phone, his knuckles turning white.

"Are you crazy?" he demanded. "She is in a hospital bed!"

"And I am your wife."

"You're acting like a monster."

"Then leave the monster," I challenged, stepping closer to him. "Sign the divorce papers, Adrian. Go back to the hospital. Go hold her hand."

He shoved the phone into his pocket. "I am not signing anything."

"Why? You already told her you never wanted to marry me."

Adrian froze. The anger melted off his face, replaced by pure panic.

"What did you just say?" he whispered.

I pulled my own phone from my pocket. I opened the text message.

I turned the screen toward him.

The photo of their intertwined hands glared in the hallway light.

"Care to explain this emergency?" I asked.