So I switched targets.
I started inviting Penelope out constantly—shopping trips, coffee dates, anything to keep her close.
Weekends meant movies together, short getaways.
I cut off every chance they had to be alone.
On her twenty-second birthday, Antony and I threw her a little celebration.
She dressed simply, almost innocently, wearing a paper birthday hat as she clasped her hands and made her wish.
I teased her, asking what she'd wished for. I expected the usual deflection—if I tell you, it won't come true—or some generic hope for career success and happiness.
Instead, she blinked up at us with those big, dewy eyes, looking between me and Antony.
"I wished for you and Mr. Weiss to be happy together forever. Safe and sound, for the rest of your lives."
I froze. The words tumbled out before I could stop them: "Why would you wish for that?"
A bittersweet expression crossed her face.
"My parents divorced when I was little. No one wanted me. My grandmother raised me alone." She paused, her voice softening. "You and Mr. Weiss... besides her, you're the kindest people I've ever known. I think of you like... like my own parents."
She ducked her head immediately, flustered, words rushing out in a panic.
"I don't mean you're old or anything! I just—I respect you both. Like elders. That's all I meant."
I felt like a demon stripped of its disguise, exposed for what I truly was.
My face burned.
I'd been guarding against her like she was a thief. And all this time, she'd seen us as family.
Shame crawled through me, hot and suffocating.
After that night, I stopped hovering. Stopped watching. And strangely, something in my chest loosened.
Less than six months until the divorce that had destroyed the other Patsy.
Antony hadn't cheated. Penelope wasn't pregnant.
The thirty-three-year-old me could finally breathe. I just had to wait—quietly, carefully—for that date to pass without incident.
Three months to go.
I came home early from a business trip.
The moment I stepped through the door, I saw clothes scattered across the floor.
A man's. A woman's.
A high-pitched ringing filled my skull. My hand trembled as I pushed open the bedroom door.
On the bed, two naked bodies tangled together, the room thick with the sound of ragged breathing.
I stared at Antony—sweat dripping down his face, muscles tensed—and at the woman beneath him.
That face.
I knew that face better than my own reflection.
They saw me. Froze. Scrambled for their clothes in a flurry of panic.
"Patsy, I—" Antony's voice cracked with guilt.
"It's all my fault." Penelope dropped to her knees at my feet, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Patsy, please—I'm pregnant. I'm begging you... let us be together."
Antony's head whipped toward her. Shock flickered across his face before something else took over—something bright and eager. He pulled her up, gathering her into his arms.
"Penelope, you're really pregnant?" His voice shook with barely contained joy. "This is wonderful. I'm finally going to be a father."
Then he turned to me.
"Patsy, you know how long I've wanted this. You could never—" He stopped himself, wincing, but pushed on anyway. "My child won't be born illegitimate. Patsy... let's get divorced."
I felt nothing.
No rage. No anguish. No hysterical screaming like the other Patsy had described.
Just... relief.
The boulder I'd been carrying for ten years finally crashed to the ground.
A decade of walking on eggshells, dreading the inevitable—and now that it was here, I accepted it with a calm that surprised even me.
I looked at him. This man I'd loved for over half my life.
Leaving didn't seem so hard after all.
I even managed a smile. Faint. Almost peaceful.
"Okay."
