Just A Substitute: The Wife He Failed

Ellie POV

The bruises on my arm from the robbery were turning a mottled, sickly yellow, but the ache in my chest made them feel like mere phantom pains. I moved through the penthouse like a ghost haunting her own life.

I started in the closet.

I pulled down every dress he had ever bought me. The red silk one he said made me look elegant. The blue chiffon he insisted I wear to galas. I yanked them off the hangers. The sound of the hangers clattering against the metal rod was rhythmic, almost soothing.

I folded them into cardboard boxes. I did not pack them nicely. I jammed them in with a violent sort of finality.

Marcus walked in while I was sealing the third box. He paused, frowning.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Cleaning," I said. I did not look up. The tape made a sharp, tearing shriek.

He looked around the room, confused. "You are donating these? That is thousands of dollars of couture."

"They do not fit anymore," I lied.

He accepted the lie because it was easier than looking at me. He checked his watch.

"We are going to my mother's for dinner," he said. "Get changed. Wear the green dress."

"I packed that one," I said.

He sighed, the sound of a man burdened by a slow child. "Find something else. And hurry. Chloe will be there."

The name hung in the air like smoke. He said it with a casualness that made my teeth ache.

I put on a black dress he hated. It was simple, severe, and entirely mourning-appropriate.

In the car, he drove with one hand on the wheel.

"I am sorry about the trip," he said suddenly. His eyes were fixed on the road. "We will go again. Just us. I promise."

He reached over to squeeze my hand. His palm was dry. He did not notice that my hand was ice cold, or that I did not squeeze back.

"You look tired," he noted, glancing at my pale face.

"I am fine," I repeated. It was my new mantra.

When we arrived at the estate, his mother, Eleanor, greeted us. She kissed Marcus on both cheeks and gave me a stiff nod.

"Chloe is in the solarium," Eleanor said. "She brought a guest, but she is dying to see you, Marcus."

Marcus dropped my hand. He did not mean to, I think. It was instinct. His body oriented toward the solarium like a compass needle finding north.

"Go say hello," I said.

He was already moving. He stopped, briefly remembering me. "You coming?"

"I will catch up."

He did not wait. He walked fast, his stride long and eager.

I walked into the dining room. The table was set with the good silver. Chloe was there, sitting next to Marcus's empty chair. She looked radiant. Her hair was parted to the left. Her lips were painted a vivid red.

She looked like the finished painting of which I was merely the sketch.

"Ellie!" she squealed. She stood up and hugged me. She smelled of expensive perfume and Marcus's favorite scotch.

"It has been so long," she said.

"Years," I said.

Marcus walked in. He was holding a wrapped rectangular package. He handed it to me.

"Give this to Chloe," he said. "It is a housewarming gift."

I looked at the package. I knew what it was. It was a first edition art book I had admired in a shop window three months ago. I had told him about it. He had said it was a waste of money.

Now, he had bought it for her.

I handed it to Chloe. "Happy housewarming."

She tore the paper. "Oh, Marcus! You remembered!"

She looked at him with wet, shining eyes. He looked back, and for a second, the rest of the room disappeared. The air between them crackled with electricity. I was standing right there, but I was invisible.

Dinner was served.

Roast lamb. Asparagus. And a large platter of shrimp scampi.

Marcus picked up the serving spoon. He heaped shrimp onto Chloe's plate.

"You love these," he said softly.

Then he turned to me. He put a large scoop of shrimp on my plate.

"Eat up, Ellie. You are too thin."

I looked at the pink, curled shrimp.

"I am allergic to shellfish, Marcus," I said.

The table went silent. Eleanor clinked her fork against her glass.

Marcus froze. The spoon hovered in mid-air. He looked at me, genuinely blank.

"Since when?" he asked.

"Since I was born," I said. "You took me to the emergency room three years ago. Remember? My throat closed up."

He blinked. "Right. I forgot."

Chloe giggled. It was a sharp, tinkling sound. "Oh, Marcus is so forgetful lately. He has so much on his mind."

She reached over and speared a shrimp from his plate.

I pushed my plate away.

The conversation flowed around me like water around a stone. They talked about people I didn't know, places I hadn't been. Marcus laughed at Chloe's jokes. He leaned in when she spoke. He filled her wine glass before it was empty.

He never once looked at me.

I watched him carefully de-shell a piece of shrimp and place it on Chloe's bread plate. His fingers were deft, gentle.

It was a domestic intimacy that shouted louder than any confession.

I felt a cramp in my lower abdomen. Stress, I told myself. Just stress.

I stood up.

"Excuse me," I said.

No one heard me. Marcus was wiping a smudge of sauce from Chloe's chin with his napkin.

I walked out of the dining room, down the hall, and out the front door. The night air was biting. I stood on the porch and looked at the closed door.

Inside that house was my husband. But he wasn't mine. He never had been.

I felt the cold seep into my bones, replacing the warmth I had tried so hard to kindle for four years.