Chapter 4 of She Gave My Life's Work to Her First Love

I stared at the message for a long time before typing back a single word: Okay.

Narelle must have sensed something.

She started being unusually gentle with me. She cooked my favorite dishes, cut back on how often she went out, and when she took Oscar's calls, she'd sometimes walk to another room where I couldn't see her.

One evening I came home to find her sitting in the kitchen, an apron tied around her waist, watching a pot of soup simmer with a distant look on her face.

For a moment, I saw the woman she'd been the year we got married.

Back then, she'd video-called my mother three separate times trying to learn a hometown recipe I loved. The first attempt was a disaster. She'd stood in the kitchen with her eyes rimming red, on the verge of tears from frustration.

I'd believed we would stay like that forever.

She turned, saw me, and smiled. "Ten more minutes."

I sat down at the table.

"Narelle, what's been going on with you lately?"

She turned the burner down, walked over, and sat across from me.

"Nothing. I just feel like I haven't been good enough to you recently."

"How so?"

She paused, meeting my eyes with a look that was almost earnest.

"I know the whole thing with Oscar wasn't fair to you. But don't worry. Once the buzz dies down, I'll make him give your credit back. After that, he and I won't have any contact. I promise."

I looked at her.

"Why does it have to wait until after the buzz dies down?"

She didn't have an answer.

So I finished the thought for her.

"Because if my name goes back on now, Oscar's award falls apart. Isn't that right?"

Her brow creased, but she didn't deny it.

"Blake, it's not as simple as you think."

"I know."

"Can you please stop being stubborn about this? Oscar isn't a bad person. He just—"

"Narelle."

She stopped.

I looked at her, keeping my voice level.

"I'm not being stubborn."

I stood, walked into the bedroom, and closed the door behind me.

That bowl of soup sat untouched.

The situation with Oscar unraveled from an entirely different direction.

A photographer in the industry posted under her real name on social media, complete with screenshots and audio recordings.

According to the post, Oscar had approached her privately before the competition and paid cash for a batch of her high-altitude footage. They'd signed a shadow contract deliberately designed to disguise the nature of the transaction.

The photographer later discovered her footage in his award-winning film. Her name wasn't even on the credits. That was when she decided she couldn't stay silent any longer.

Within two hours of the post going live, others dug up evidence that Oscar had pulled the same kind of stunt five years ago, stealing someone else's work. That case had been quietly settled behind closed doors.

Narelle called that night. Her voice was tight.

"Blake, did you know about this?"

"Just saw it."

"You weren't involved, were you?"

I set the phone down for a moment and took a deep breath.

"Narelle, you're really asking me that right now?"

"I'm just making sure—"

"You see that this is causing problems for him, so the first thing you do is call to ask whether I stabbed him in the back. Is that it?"

Silence on the other end. A few seconds passed.

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

She was quiet even longer this time.

"Blake, I know you've been wronged. But now isn't the time to keep score. I need you to help me make this go away."

"I don't have that kind of pull."

"You know plenty of people in the industry. One word from you—"

"Do you have any idea what my reputation looks like right now?"

This time I was the one who cut her off.

"That damage-control interview you made me do for Oscar? After it aired, how many people decided I was a pushover? How many of them said I was living up to every joke about being the Sanchez family's live-in son-in-law?"

"Do you have any idea what I got in return for speaking up for him?"

"Blake..."

"I can't help. And I don't want to."

I hung up.

The phone rang again almost immediately. Narelle's name on the screen.

I didn't answer.

It rang seven times before it finally stopped.

Then a message popped up.

Blake, Oscar really didn't mean it. Help me just this once, and I'll do whatever you say from now on.

I flipped the phone facedown on the table and went out to buy a pack of cigarettes.

I didn't smoke. I bought them and threw them away.

I stood downstairs for half an hour, staring at nothing, my mind completely blank.