The Wrong Mrs. Gibson

Candace's POV

I spread the wedding invitation samples across our coffee table, my heart doing that stupid flutter thing it always did when I thought about finally becoming Mrs. Gibson. Seven years. Seven whole years of waiting, and we were finally here.

"Logan, look at this one!" I held up the cream-colored card with gold embossing. "Isn't it perfect?"

He glanced up from his phone for maybe half a second. "Yeah, looks good."

His phone buzzed again. And again. I watched his eyebrows scrunch together as he typed furiously, and that little crease appeared between them, the one that meant he was annoyed.

"Everything okay at work?" I kept my voice light, casual.

"It's that new secretary." He didn't look up. "Ivy. She's completely incompetent. Can't even make coffee without spilling it all over my documents."

"Oh." I turned back to the invitations, "Well, she's new. I'm sure she'll get better."

"She better." Logan stood up, still glued to his phone. "I need to make a call."

He walked out onto the balcony, and I sat there surrounded by wedding samples, suddenly feeling very alone in our apartment. It's fine, I told myself. He's just stressed about work. Once we're married, things will settle down.

I picked up the invitation again. "Mr. and Mrs. Logan Gibson request your presence..."

Seven years ago, when I'd asked why we couldn't just get married, Logan had kissed my forehead and said he wanted to build something first. Something worthy of me. "I want to give you the wedding you deserve, Candace. The life you deserve. Just give me time."

So I'd given him time. I'd given up my marketing job at that startup, because Logan said his career needed the support. Someone had to be home to make sure he ate properly, slept properly, didn't burn himself out.

"She spilled coffee on you again?" I tried to keep the sympathy in my voice as Logan paced our living room three days later.

"Ruined an entire client presentation! And then she put the wrong pages in the copier. She can't even use basic office equipment!" He threw his jacket over the couch. "I don't care if she went to Yale, I'm telling HR she needs to go."

"Maybe she's just nervous," I said, bringing him a beer. "New job, intimidating boss..."

"I'm not intimidating." He took the beer but didn't look at me. "I'm just holding her to basic standards."

One week later, something shifted.

"Ivy actually stayed late today to help me organize the quarterly reports." Logan was smiling when he came home. "She's starting to get the hang of things."

"That's... good." I stirred the pasta, "So you're not firing her?"

"Nah. She's got potential. Just needed some time to adjust." He leaned against the counter, and looked at me. "How was your day?"

Empty. Lonely. I spent three hours picking out napkin colors for a wedding that feels more like a fantasy than something actually happening in three months. But I couldn't say that out loud.

"Good," I said instead. "I confirmed the florist."

"Great." His phone buzzed. He pulled it out, and that smile came back, the one that hadn't been for me. He typed something, chuckled softly, then put the phone away. "Sorry. Ivy had a question about tomorrow's meeting."

It was 8 PM.

By the second week, Ivy's name came up more than the wedding did.

"You should've seen her today in the client meeting. She had this whole analysis prepared, Ivy really understands market trends." Logan was animated at dinner. "She's sharp, you know? Really sharp."

"Mm-hmm." I pushed food around my plate.

"She does this thing where she tilts her head when she's concentrating. It's kind of..." He caught himself, cleared his throat. "Anyway. What were you saying about centerpieces?"

"I wasn't."

"Oh." He went back to his phone.

I watched him scroll, watched that little smile play at the corners of his mouth, and something cold settled in my chest.

"Logan."

"Hmm?"

"Do you think I'm boring?"

That got his attention. He looked up, confused. "What? No. Why would you ask that?"

"I don't know. It's just... you seem more interested in Ivy's market analysis than in our wedding."

"Candace." He sighed in that way that made me feel like I was being difficult. "I'm at work all day. Of course I'm going to talk about work when I get home. You want me to just sit here in silence?"

No. I want you to ask about my day. I want you to care that I spent two hours on the phone with your mother discussing seating arrangements. I want you to look at me the way you just looked at your phone.

"You're right," I said quietly. "Sorry."

"It's just..." He shook his head. "You're home all day. What do you have to talk about besides wedding stuff? Ivy and I can actually discuss business strategy, industry trends. It's stimulating."

The pasta turned to concrete in my mouth.

The next day, I dragged my best friend Ava out to take my mind off things. We'd just finished shopping and sat down at this coffee shop.

"Candace." Ava grabbed my hand across the café table, "I need to tell you something."

"My cousin works in Logan's building. She says people are talking." Ava squeezed my fingers. "About Logan and his secretary."

Ivy.

"What are they saying?"

"That they're... close. Really close." Ava bit her lip. "Someone saw them having lunch together three times last week. And she's always in his office with the door closed."

I pulled my hand back and wrapped it around my coffee cup. "They work together, Ava. Of course they have lunch sometimes. And they probably close the door for confidential meetings."

"Candace—"

"He's stressed about the wedding." I heard myself say it, watched myself believe it. "He's dealing with a new employee, planning a wedding, managing his projects. He's not cheating on me."

"People are saying he's going to replace you. That there's going to be a new Mrs. Gibson."

The coffee was bitter on my tongue. "We've been together for seven years. Seven years. I gave up my career for him. I support him every single day. He wouldn't—" My voice cracked. "He wouldn't do that to me."

Ava's eyes were shining with tears she wouldn't let fall. "I hope you're right. I really do."

"I am right. Logan isn't that kind of person." I forced a smile. "The invitations are already sent, Ava. The wedding is in three months. You're being paranoid."

She nodded slowly.

That night when I got home, I just couldn't shake this uneasy feeling. Logan wasn't back yet, and I ended up waiting for him way past midnight.

One AM. The clock on the wall mocked me with every tick.

I'd called him four times. Texted six. Where are you? Are you okay? Please just let me know you're safe.

Nothing.

The soup I'd made for dinner sat cold on the stove. I'd already wrapped it, unwrapped it, reheated it, let it cool again. Busy work. Something to keep my hands from shaking.

The door finally opened at 1:47 AM.

Logan stumbled in, reeking of alcohol and something else. Perfume. Sweet and floral, nothing like what I wore.