My husband treated me as a stand-in; I remarried a medical tycoon

I didn't go home that night.

I sat in my car on the top level of a parking deck in Queens and watched the sky turn gray. The white dress had a coffee stain on it by sunrise.

At ten, my phone rang. *Margaret Calloway.* Aaron's mother.

"Kassia." Her voice was crisp. "Family luncheon. One o'clock. Don't be late."

"Margaret, I'm not feeling well. Could we..."

"You're a Calloway wife. You'll be there."

She hung up before I could answer.

I changed into a navy dress at a boutique on Madison and fixed my makeup in the dressing room mirror. My eyes were still swollen. I covered them with concealer until they looked almost normal.

---

The estate's dining room smelled like lilies and lemon polish.

I stopped in the doorway.

Sophia sat at the foot of the long table, in the hostess chair. *My* chair. She wore pale pink, and her hair was pinned up the way Margaret liked mine.

Chloe Brennan was hanging on her arm, laughing at something.

Chloe had grown up next door to Aaron. She'd followed him around since she was six. At our wedding, she'd hugged me and whispered, "Enjoy it while it lasts."

"Oh, look," Chloe said brightly. "The stand-in showed up."

Margaret didn't scold her. She only sipped her wine.

I took the empty seat halfway down the table. Aaron sat at the head. He didn't look up from his phone.

"Kassia, you have to see these." Chloe slid a stack of old photos across the tablecloth. "I found them in Aaron's room last summer. Isn't he cute?"

Aaron at nineteen, grinning. Sophia on his back at a beach. Aaron kissing her cheek under a Christmas tree. In every picture, he wore something blue.

"Blue," Chloe said, tapping the photo. "His favorite color. You knew that, right?"

I stared at the picture. "He told me it was gray."

"Gray?" She burst out laughing. "Kassia. Three years and you don't even know your husband's favorite color?"

"Gray is *my* favorite color," I said quietly.

"Exactly." Chloe smirked. "He was being nice."

Sophia set her fork down. Her voice was soft and careful. "Chloe, stop. This isn't fair to her."

She turned those gray-green eyes on me. My eyes.

"Kassia, I didn't come back to ruin anything. If my being here hurts your marriage, I'll go back to London. I mean it. I'd never want to be the other woman."

Margaret patted her hand. "Sweetheart, don't say that."

Aaron finally looked up. "You're not going anywhere, Sophia."

Something in my chest snapped shut.

I put my napkin on the table and stood. "Thank you for lunch, Margaret."

"Sit down," Aaron said.

"No."

I picked up my handbag from the chair beside me. Chloe stood at the same moment, reaching past me for the water pitcher. Her hip bumped my bag. I barely noticed.

I made it three steps toward the door.

"My necklace!" Chloe shrieked.

Everyone froze.

"Margaret's emerald! The one she let me try on before lunch. I set it right here." She pointed at the sideboard. "It's gone!"

"That's a million-dollar piece," Margaret said sharply.

Sophia rose, hands raised. "Wait, let's not jump to conclusions. Kassia wouldn't steal." She hesitated, then added gently, "She's just... not herself today. Last night was a lot. People do strange things when they're jealous."

I turned slowly. "Are you serious?"

"I'm on your side," Sophia said, eyes wide. "I really am."

Aaron stood. He crossed the room in four long strides and held out his hand.

"Bag."

"Aaron, you can't think..."

He took it from my shoulder. Unzipped it. Reached in.

The emerald necklace came out tangled around my car keys, green stones catching the light.

Chloe gasped loudly.

"I didn't take that." My voice came out steady. That surprised me. "She bumped my bag. Chloe put it there."

"Oh my God, now she's blaming me?" Chloe's eyes filled with fake tears. "Aaron, I'd never..."

"Enough." Aaron dropped the necklace into his mother's palm. Then he looked at me. His face was empty.

"Kneel down. Apologize to Sophia."

The room went silent.

"To *Sophia*?" I laughed, short and sharp. "Why her? It's not even her necklace."

"You embarrassed her. You've been hostile since you walked in."

"I haven't said ten words!"

"Kneel, Kassia."

My eyes burned. "I'm your wife!"

"Sophia just came back." His jaw tightened. "I won't let anyone hurt her. Including you."

I stared at him. Waiting for the man who made burned pancakes. The man who held my hand through pneumonia.

He wasn't there.

"Just do it," Chloe hissed, stepping close. "Stop making a scene."

Her hands hit my shoulders. Hard.

I stumbled backward. My heel caught the rug.

The corner of the table met my forehead with a crack I felt in my teeth.

Then I was on the floor. Something warm ran down my temple and over my cheek. I touched it. My fingers came away red.

Sophia screamed and covered her face.

Aaron moved.

Toward her.

He caught Sophia by the arms and pulled her against his chest. "Hey. Hey, it's okay. Don't look."

He glanced at me once over her shoulder. Just once.

Then he turned her away.

---

I drove myself to Lenox Hill. Six stitches. The nurse kept asking if someone was coming to pick me up.

"No," I said. "Nobody's coming."

My phone buzzed while she taped the gauze.

**Aaron:** Move your things out of the master bedroom tonight. Sophia will stay there for a while. Use the guest room.

No *are you okay*. No question mark at all.

I read it four times. Then I put the phone face down on the paper sheet and laughed until the nurse looked worried.

---

The penthouse was dark when I got home.

I flipped on the bedroom light and pulled my suitcase from the closet.

The white roses on the dresser were fresh. Aaron had them delivered every Monday. I'd always thought it was romantic.

I picked up the gardenia perfume from the vanity. The one he bought me every Christmas. The bottle was cool and heavy in my hand.

Then I opened the bottom drawer of his nightstand, looking for my passport.

It wasn't there.

A leather folder was. Old. Soft at the corners.

Inside was a sketch of a wedding dress. Off-shoulder, lace sleeves, a long silk train. My wedding dress. Down to the tiny pearl buttons.

Across the top, in round, girlish handwriting:

*My dream dress. Someday. — S.*

Under it was a list on hotel stationery.

*White roses, never red.*

*Gardenia perfume.*

*Hair down, never up.*

*Gray dresses.*

*Coffee, two sugars.*

Two sugars. The way I'd started taking it after we married, because Aaron always made it that way and I didn't want to hurt his feelings.

My hands started to shake.

I wasn't loved. I was *assembled*. Piece by piece, like a dress made from someone else's pattern.

Behind me, the front door chimed.

Footsteps. Two sets. And a soft, familiar laugh in the hallway.

"Aaron," Sophia called sweetly, "is she gone yet? I want to see our room."