The Wife He Forgot to Love

Amy Gray had swallowed twenty years of humiliation. Her liberation came only when her husband drank himself into a stupor, stumbled into the village pond, and drowned.

Not long after, Elijah Henson stood before her weathered farmhouse. He checked the address, inhaled sharply, and knocked.

The door creaked open. Their eyes met, and the world went silent.

Neither spoke. Tears welled instantly, rimming their eyes red.

Amy broke first. Her trembling hand rose to cup Elijah's face, her voice fractured. "Elijah... what took you so long?"

Her sobs intensified. "Do you know how long I've waited? You lied to me! You promised once you got into college, you'd divorce that woman and marry me. Look at me now—my hair is white, and you're only just showing up."

That woman.

The words hit like a physical blow. A chill radiated from my core, freezing the blood in my veins.

Suddenly, the pieces fit. No wonder Elijah had asked for a divorce the second year of our marriage.

Back then, I was young, foolish, so full of love that I refused to let go. He never brought it up again, so I thought we'd moved past it.

I was wrong.

I stood rooted, trembling.

Elijah looked stricken. His brow furrowed, expression caught between confusion and heartache.

"I'm sorry, Amy. I'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

He crushed her into his embrace. She collapsed against his shoulder, wailing openly.

He stroked her back, wiping her tears with frantic tenderness. His voice cracked. "I was too late. I let you suffer. But I'm taking you away. Right now. We won't ever be separated again."

They held each other until Amy gradually quieted. She lifted her head, and her teary gaze shifted past him—landing on me.

She froze. "What about her?"

Elijah didn't even turn fully around. He caught a glimpse of me and sneered.

"She doesn't decide for me. Ignore her."

He turned his back completely, taking Amy's hand. His voice softened. "Let's go. We've wasted enough time."

Amy hesitated. "I need to pack my things..."

He waved dismissively. "Leave it. I'll buy you everything new. Whatever you want."

I watched them walk away, hand in hand. My feet moved on their own, dragged by some invisible tether of masochism.

They entered a hair salon.

From the shade of a nearby tree, I watched Elijah help Amy choose a color. They settled on matching light brown.

The memory stung. Years ago, I'd dyed my hair chestnut on a whim. I'd asked him, smiling, if he liked it. He'd barely glanced up.

"At your age? Stop wasting time on useless vanity and focus on the house."

Yet here he was—sitting through Amy's entire appointment, then taking her to the mall afterward.

From wool coats to down jackets, he selected items one by one. He waited patiently outside the fitting room, offering eager, genuine compliments on every outfit.