The Wife He Never Saw

"Pancreatic cancer. Stage four. Six months, maybe less."

Dr. Morrison's words echoed in the room, but I was staring at my phone. Kelvin's comment to Valerie glowed on the screen: [Welcome home. I've waited eight years for this.]

How poetic. My death sentence and his first love's homecoming, both arriving on the same Tuesday afternoon.

"Mrs. Lancaster, did you hear me?" Dr. Morrison leaned forward, concern creasing his weathered face. "We need to start chemotherapy immediately. It's spread to your liver, but we can buy you some time—"

"How much time?" My voice came out steadier than I expected.

"Two, maybe three more months. The treatment will be aggressive, and I won't lie to you—it's going to be brutal."

I looked down at my hands, the same hands that had signed a marriage certificate three years ago thinking love would eventually grow. The diamond on my finger caught the fluorescent light. Kelvin had proposed with this ring, but I'd later found out he'd originally bought it for Valerie before she left for Paris.

Everything in my life was Valerie's hand-me-down.

"I'm not doing it," I said quietly.

"Mrs. Lancaster—"

"I'm not telling anyone either." I met his eyes. "Especially not my husband."

Dr. Morrison opened his mouth to argue, but something in my expression stopped him. After all, what was the point? Kelvin wouldn't care if I lived or died. He'd probably be relieved.

I left the hospital and headed straight to the charity gala at the Waldorf Astoria. The cramping in my stomach had started during the appointment, but I'd gotten good at hiding pain. Three years of being invisible in my own marriage had taught me that much.

The ballroom glittered with Manhattan's elite. I'd worn the burgundy Valentino gown Kelvin's stylist had picked out—or rather, that Kelvin had picked out. He chose all my clothes, styled my hair, even decided what perfume I wore.

I was his life-size Valerie doll.

I was scanning the room for him when a ripple of excitement moved through the crowd. That's when I saw her.

Valerie walked in on Kelvin's arm, and my stomach dropped. She was wearing the exact same Valentino gown as me, except in emerald green. She looked like a goddess—effortlessly elegant.

I looked like a cheap copy.

"Eileen!" Valerie spotted me and waved, her smile bright and innocent. "Oh my God, we're wearing the same dress! You have such great taste—it's always been so similar to mine."

The surrounding guests tittered. I felt their eyes on me, dissecting, comparing.

Kelvin barely glanced my way. "Valerie just got back from Paris. She's been doing incredible work at Dior."

"How wonderful," I managed. The pain in my abdomen sharpened, but I kept smiling.

A photographer approached, camera raised. I instinctively moved closer to Kelvin—we were married, after all. This was supposed to be my place.

Kelvin's hand shot out and pushed me aside. Not roughly, but not gently either. "You're blocking Valerie," he said flatly.

The camera flashed. I stood there, frozen three feet away from my own husband, while he posed with his arm around another woman. The whispers started immediately.

"Isn't that his wife?"

"Poor thing. Everyone knows why he married her."

"She looks like a discount Valerie."

I turned and walked away.

I made it to the bathroom before the tears came, but I blinked them back. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

The drive home was silent. Kelvin didn't even bother coming back with me—he'd stayed at the gala with Valerie. Our penthouse on Central Park West felt enormous and empty as I let myself in. Lucky, my German Shepherd from Texas, bounded up to greet me. He was the only thing in this apartment that actually loved me.

Two hours later, Kelvin came home. I was sitting in the living room, still in my gown, waiting.

"We need to talk," I said.

He loosened his tie, not looking at me. "About what?"

"About Valerie. She's back. So what happens to me now?"

Kelvin laughed—actually laughed. "You know exactly what your role is, Eileen."

"I'm your wife."

"You're a business arrangement between me and Wilde Defense Corp." He poured himself a scotch. "Your father wanted me to take care of you. I did. That's all this is."

The pain in my stomach flared, but I ignored it. "And Valerie?"

"Valerie is the only woman I've ever loved." He finally looked at me, and his eyes were cold. "You want the truth? I married you because you look like her. Seven, maybe eight out of ten resemblance. Close enough that if I close my eyes, I can pretend you're her."

The room tilted. I'd known—of course I'd known—but hearing him say it out loud felt like being gutted.

"That's disgusting," I whispered.

"That's reality." He drained his scotch. "Don't wait up for me. I'm staying at the Plaza tonight."

After he left, I made it to the bathroom before I vomited blood into the sink. My hands shook as I gripped the marble counter. Lucky whined outside the door.

I let him in and slid down to the floor. He immediately pressed against me, licking my face as I cried into his fur.

"Six months, Lucky," I choked out. "I only have six months left."

But even as the tears fell, something hardened inside me. Kelvin would never know. He'd never get to feel noble or guilty. He'd never get to play the devoted husband at my deathbed.

I'd make sure his last memories of me were of a wife who didn't need him.

And when I was gone, he'd finally understand what he'd lost.

The next morning, my lawyer called.

"Mrs. Lancaster, I need to inform you that your husband is requesting the deed transfer for the Texas ranch property."

I gripped the phone tighter. The ranch was mine—my father's 21st birthday gift, the only place that still felt like home.

"Transfer it to whom?"

"To a Miss Valerie Brook."

Of course. He was giving her everything. Even the one thing that was truly mine.

I hung up and looked at myself in the mirror. My face was pale, hollowed out. I looked like I was already dying.

I smiled at my reflection.

"Kelvin Lancaster," I said softly. "You're going to regret this."