The Wife He Never Deserved

Nina

I paused just inside the room, sealed in layers of personal protective equipment. The outfit felt like a knight’s plating, yet it offered no defense for my aching heart. Both Daryl and Johanna turned in unison toward the doorway, and I forced a professional smile, greeting them in an even, steady tone. Daryl’s face showed no spark of recognition; the man who once traced the curve of my cheek with reverent fingers—boasting that he could identify me blindfolded—now looked through me as if I were invisible.

I swallowed hard and focused on my task. “Let’s start some intravenous fluids,” I informed Johanna briskly. A tremor flickered in my hands while I primed the tubing, but I locked my jaw and willed the movement into calm precision.

I should not have been stunned by the way he gazed at her—like a suffocating traveler gulping precious air. His knuckles brushed her cheek with feather‑soft tenderness, eyes glowing with unwavering adoration. That gentle tableau had once belonged solely to me, and now I hovered on the periphery, reduced to an unwelcome ghost in someone else’s love story.

In that fragile silence, fate twisted the knife. Johanna’s voice, surprisingly clear despite her discomfort, filled the air. “When are you finishing the paperwork with the wife back in the States? You never show me photos or even tell me her name.”

My fingers stalled over the catheter hub; the atmosphere seemed to thicken, crushing my ribs.

Daryl sighed, sounding inconvenienced. “Soon,” he muttered. “I just need to pin some financial misconduct on her—make it look like she squandered our money. Once that’s on record, everything—assets, property—will be mine.”

The world dropped away. My vision blurred at the edges, and my pulse hammered like war drums.

Johanna let out a small, contented sigh, oblivious to the wreckage her words carved across my chest. “Will it take long? I want to move into your American house before the baby grows too big.”

Our house. The place I’d decorated with hope and dreams.

Daryl’s smile widened as his palm traced gentle circles over her rounded belly. “Relax, sweetheart. I’ll handle it. Very soon we’ll have the life we deserve.”

A scream burned my throat. I wanted to rip off the suffocating suit and demand answers, but what would confrontation change? The ugliness was already laid bare: the man I had devoted my soul to was never truly mine.

My legs moved of their own accord, carrying me into the corridor. Each footfall sliced through my heart. Breathing raggedly, I stripped off gloves, mask—anything that pressed against my skin.

Alone in the vacant hallway, the dam burst.

Scalding tears cascaded down my cheeks. A jagged sob clawed free while I pressed both hands to my chest, as if sheer pressure could keep the fragments of my heart from scattering. How do you mend something ground to powder?

I slumped against a cold, white wall, hyperventilating as grief battered me in relentless waves. Every “I love you,” every late‑night whisper, every promised forever—carefully staged lies.

I had been a convenient fool. The realization echoed like gunfire in the lonely corridor.

---

Morning arrived with the bustle of early discharges. I’d barely slept; betrayal pressed on my sternum, making each breath a struggle. Yet some masochistic impulse compelled me to look upon them again, to hunt for even a glimmer of remorse in Daryl’s eyes.

I found none.

Hidden at a distance, I watched him hover beside Johanna, tucking her blanket, ensuring her comfort. He smiled warmly, hand drifting over her belly with such tenderness it stole the air from my lungs.

How could those same eyes have once held me in devotion while weaving such deception? How could those arms have embraced me while secretly planning my erasure?

My fingers trembled as I dialed his number. One ring. Two—

Across the hall, he glanced at his phone, tension flickering over his features. He exhaled, muted the call, and slid the device back into his pocket.

“Your wife again?” Johanna asked, irritation sharpening her tone.

Daryl offered an exaggerated sigh. “Yes. She’s so clingy it’s suffocating, even from an ocean away.”

The final blow landed.

I pressed a hand over my mouth, swallowing the sob fighting to escape. Agony radiated through me—hot, merciless—an injury no stretch of time could soothe.

I had given him everything—trust, devotion, love. To him, I was merely excess baggage, a loose thread he intended to snip without a backward glance.