The Backup Wife: The Real One Came Back Before I Lost My Sight

"Mrs. Collins, I have to tell you the truth."

I sat in the sterile white examination room at Denver General Hospital, Dr. Mitchell's voice seeming to come from somewhere far away. Sunlight filtered through the venetian blinds, casting shadows across the diagnostic report where black medical terms danced before my eyes, blurring together.

"The optic nerve tumor has severely compressed your optic nerve. At the current rate of progression..." The doctor paused, as if carefully choosing his words. "Within six months, you will be completely blind."

Six months.

The words exploded in my mind like a bomb.

Thirty years old. I was only thirty. I hadn't yet told Brock I wanted children, hadn't seen the world, hadn't...

"Of course, we can schedule surgery immediately," Dr. Mitchell continued, "but the success rate is only twenty percent."

Twenty percent.

The number echoed in my head. I felt like I was falling into a bottomless abyss, surrounded by darkness and despair.

"I... I need time to tell my husband." My voice was trembling.

Dr. Mitchell nodded. "I understand. But Mrs. Collins, you'll need your family's support. This surgery is not only high-risk, but the recovery period requires extensive care."

Care.

I smiled bitterly. I had never truly been "cared for" by anyone. My mother ran off with another man when I was eight, leaving me alone with my often-absent father.

And now? Brock couldn't even remember my birthday. Would he have time to care for a blind wife?

Walking out of the hospital, my legs could barely support my body. Sitting in my car in the parking lot, I pulled out my phone, wanting to call Brock.

I wanted to tell him I needed him, needed him by my side right now, holding me, telling me everything would be okay.

Before I could dial, my phone rang.

"Kelly!" Brock's excited voice burst through the speaker. "You'll never guess who's back!"

This kind of excitement—I hadn't heard it from him in years. Not even on our wedding day had he sounded this thrilled.

"Who... who's back?" I fought back tears, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Serena! Serena's back!" His voice carried a joy I'd never heard before, with an undercurrent of trembling excitement. "She's now a Federal Environmental Commissioner! She's managing millions in federal funding!"

Serena.

That name struck my heart like a blade.

I could hear the tremor in his voice, that excitement mixed with nervousness. Fate had a cruel sense of humor—the woman my husband was still in love with happened to be my stepsister.

Serena Morrison, the daughter from the mother-daughter pair my father had brought home three years ago. She was already the state university's queen bee then, so brilliant she was untouchable, while I was just an ordinary girl working at the campus library.

Worse yet, she was Brock's college ex-girlfriend, the white moonlight forever perfect in his heart.

I'd never forget the pride in my father's eyes when he first introduced her to the neighbors: "This is my daughter Serena, about to graduate from State University."

I stood there like an outsider.

And at that time, Brock was her boyfriend. Serena had amber eyes and a beauty mark at the corner of her eye—beautiful like a movie star. They had planned to move to Denver together after graduation, to change the world together.

But she ultimately chose a bigger stage, accepting an internship opportunity in Washington, leaving Brock alone in our small town.

That's when I met him, heartbroken and vulnerable.

"Brock, I have something very important to tell you..." My voice was shaking.

"Oh, Kelly, sorry, I'm really busy right now." He wasn't listening at all. "I have to go pick her up! Do you know? She's now managing wildfire prevention for the entire Western region! She always said she'd do big things, and now she's actually done it!"

The pride and excitement in his voice cut through me like a knife. Even after being abandoned all these years, he was still proud of her achievements.

I closed my eyes, tears finally spilling over.

"Brock..."

"We'll talk tonight, okay? I really have to go now. God, I can't believe she's actually back!"

Beep, beep, beep—

The line went dead.

I sat in the empty parking lot, tears dripping onto the diagnostic report, blurring those cold medical terms.

She was back. Just as I was about to go blind.

On the drive home, I kept thinking about how to tell Brock.

Maybe when he knew I was going blind, he'd feel sorry for me? He always said my eyes were the most beautiful, especially the beauty mark at the corner of my eye, saying it made me look touching and vulnerable.

If these eyes he loved most lost their light, he'd surely stay to take care of me, right?

I imagined his reaction when he learned the news—maybe he'd hold me and tell me not to be afraid; maybe he'd immediately contact the best doctors; maybe he'd cancel all his work to stay with me through this difficult time.

But another voice whispered in my heart: What if he chose her? What if he found caring for a blind wife too troublesome?

I shook my head hard, trying to dispel these terrible thoughts. No, we'd been married for five years. He wouldn't be that cruel.

At home, I made his favorite beef stew, baked an apple pie, and carefully placed the diagnostic report on the coffee table. I changed into his favorite blue dress—the one I wore on our first date.

Everything was ready.

I sat before the mirror, looking at my reflection. A bit pale, fear in my eyes, but I forced a smile.

Tonight, everything would change.

Tonight, I would tell him I was sick, that I might go blind, that I needed his care and companionship. Maybe when he knew I was going blind, he wouldn't think about Serena anymore.

My phone buzzed with a text message.

I thought it was from Brock, but opening it, I saw it was an automated reminder from the hospital:

"Dear Ms. Collins, please remember to schedule your next follow-up appointment. Early intervention is crucial for your condition."

Reading this cold message, I suddenly realized a harsh reality:

Time waits for no one.