I froze in the hallway outside Joshua’s study, my heart hammering against my ribs. His voice carried from inside, too casual, too confident.
“I’m serious, Jo… what if she comes back and catches us?”
Vanessa’s voice—sweet, teasing—sent a chill down my spine.
“She won’t,” Joshua replied. “I texted her earlier. She’s probably out doing her usual errands. And even if she walks in—what does it matter? You’re my wife. She only thinks she is.”
Their laughter cut through me like glass, a cruel echo of everything I thought I knew.
I stumbled backward, gripping the edge of the wall. My mind raced, desperate for something solid. And then I remembered the papers I had seen that morning, the ones I had thought were innocuous in his study.
I returned to the room cautiously, lifting the last crumpled sheet from the floor. My breath caught in my throat. It wasn’t a contract, wasn’t a ledger. It was our marriage certificate.
Hands trembling, I smoothed it out. Surely, this had to be some mistake. Perhaps he’d requested a duplicate? But the edges were frayed, worn like it had been kept around just long enough to deceive me. My stomach twisted. Something precious… discarded.
I forced a small, shaky smile at the thought that maybe I could turn it into a gesture—a framed anniversary gift, something sweet to mark our three years. But that hope dissolved quickly.
Later that afternoon, at the civil registry, the truth hit me like a freight train.
“Ma’am… there doesn’t seem to be any record of a marriage under those names,” the clerk said, typing slowly, her brow furrowed.
I pressed, voice quivering. “Please, check again. Joshua Whitman and Adriana Cortez. Married three years ago.”
Twice she searched. Twice she shook her head.
“This document,” she finally said, her words slicing through me, “isn’t genuine. It looks like a forgery. Mr. Whitman has been legally married for four years—to a woman named Vanessa Morgan.”
Vanessa. My cousin. My childhood friend. My trusted confidante. The woman who had always been like a sister to me… and now, the woman Joshua had chosen over me.
I remembered everything—the shy transfer student meeting the confident boy in sophomore Literature class, the stolen glances, the notes tucked in lockers, the small gifts, the whispered promises. The way he had waited for me while I studied abroad, the letters, the calls, the airport reunion with white peonies, my tears, our vows. All of it… a lie.
My phone vibrated sharply, dragging me back from the spiral of disbelief.
Joshua: Hey… just checking in. You’re not still out, are you? Can’t wait to see you. I miss you.
I didn’t answer.
At home, I paused outside his office again, listening to their voices. My stomach sank lower than it had in years. Vanessa’s laughter, his reassurance to her, the casual cruelty—they didn’t even see me. The certificate tossed, my belief shattered.
Shaking, I dialed my mother’s number, voice steady despite the tears I could not stop.
“Mom,” I whispered. “About that marriage arrangement you mentioned with your business partner…”
I drew in a shaky breath, letting the sobs threaten but not break me.
“I’m ready. Go ahead and set it up.”
