My Husband Died After I Was Used as a Substitute for My Sister

"Barry? I'm home early!" I called out, pushing the front door shut with my hip.

I kicked off my flats and walked down the hallway. My fingers traced the edges of the folded paper inside my purse. The clinic report. Two pink lines. A positive result. After two years of trying, we were finally going to have a baby.

The house was completely silent.

"Barry?" I asked the empty living room.

A muffled thump echoed from the second floor. It came from our master bedroom.

I climbed the stairs, a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. I planned to slip the report under his pillow. A perfect surprise.

I turned the knob and pushed the bedroom door open.

My purse slipped from my shoulder. It hit the hardwood floor with a heavy thud.

"What the hell are you doing?" I screamed.

Barry scrambled backward on the mattress, tangling his legs in our white duvet. He was completely naked. Beside him, a woman let out a sharp gasp and dove under the sheets, hiding her face against the pillows.

"Flora!" Barry yelled, his eyes wide with panic. "Wait. Stop. It’s not what it looks like."

"Not what it looks like?" My voice cracked. "You are in our bed. With another woman."

He grabbed his boxers from the floor and hastily pulled them on. "I drank too much alcohol. We had a few glasses of wine downstairs. I swear to you, Flora. I thought she was you."

"You thought she was me?" I repeated, my stomach twisting into a painful knot.

"She was wearing your perfume," he stammered, holding his hands up as if surrendering. "The lights were off. I made a mistake."

The woman on the bed shifted. She clutched the blanket tightly to her chest and slowly turned her head toward me.

The blood drained from my face. My knees went weak.

"Amanda?" I whispered.

My adoptive parents' newly found biological daughter. The girl they had searched for over two decades. Just last week, my mother had held my hands, tears in her eyes, begging me to accept her. *She’s had a hard life, Flora. Treat her like a real sister. Protect her.*

"Flora, please," Amanda whimpered.

"My sister?" I stepped forward, my hands shaking uncontrollably. "You slept with my sister?"

"I didn't know it was her!" Barry insisted, moving to block my path to the bed.

"Get out of my way, Barry."

"Just calm down and listen to me."

"Calm down?" I shoved his chest hard. He barely moved. "How long has this been going on? Under my roof?"

Amanda let out a loud, pathetic sob. "Flora, I'm so sorry. I didn't want this."

I glared at her over Barry's shoulder. "You didn't want this? You're naked in my bed!"

"He grabbed me," Amanda cried, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. She pulled her knees up, making herself look small and fragile. "I came upstairs to borrow a sweater. It was dark. He pulled me onto the bed. I tried to push him away, but he was too strong. I was so scared."

"Liar," I snapped. "You didn't scream. You didn't run."

"Don't call her a liar," Barry said, his tone shifting from apologetic to defensive.

I stared at my husband. "Are you defending her right now?"

"Look at her, Flora," he argued, gesturing to the crying girl on the mattress. "She's terrified. She didn't ask for this. I told you, I initiated it. It was a drunken mistake. Don't take it out on her."

"She is a grown woman," I shouted. "She knows exactly what she's doing."

"Stop being so cruel!" Barry yelled back. "Can't you see she's traumatized?"

The room spun. My husband was shielding the woman he just cheated with. He stood tall, his jaw set, acting like her protector while I stood there, betrayed and humiliated.

My right hand slipped into my jacket pocket. My fingertips brushed against the crisp paper of the pregnancy report.

*We are having a baby.*

The words I had rehearsed all the way home died in my throat. I squeezed the paper, crushing it into a tight, jagged ball. The sharp edges dug into my palm, grounding me in the present reality.

I would not tell him. He didn't deserve to know.

"Get out," I said quietly.

"Flora, let's just talk about this rationally," Barry tried again, reaching for my arm.

I slapped his hand away. "If you don't pack your things and leave this house right now, I will call my parents. I will tell them exactly what their precious biological daughter was doing with my husband."

Amanda flinched. "No, please. Don't tell them. It will break their hearts."

"Then get out of my house!" I screamed.

Barry clenched his fists. He grabbed a pair of jeans from the chair and threw a t-shirt at Amanda. "Fine. We'll leave. You're completely hysterical right now anyway."

He didn't even look at me as he escorted her out of the bedroom. I listened to their hurried footsteps on the stairs, followed by the heavy slam of the front door.

Silence returned to the house.

I collapsed onto the edge of the ruined mattress. The fabric smelled like cheap wine and my favorite floral perfume. Disgust washed over me.

I stood up and ripped the sheets off the bed. I threw the pillows across the room. I gathered the duvet and tossed it into the hallway.

A heavy, rectangular object hit the floorboards with a loud clatter.

I paused.

I walked over and crouched down. It was Barry's smartphone. It must have fallen out of his pockets during the chaos.

I picked it up. The screen lit up, displaying a notification for a missed call.

My thumb hovered over the screen. I swiped up. The passcode prompt appeared. Barry had used the same code for three years. My birthday.

I typed the numbers in. The phone unlocked immediately.

I tapped on his messaging app first. Nothing out of the ordinary. Work emails, texts from his friends, spam. No hidden messages with Amanda.

I opened his photo gallery. Thumbnails of our vacations, his car, his meals. I scrolled back. Months passed in a blur of mundane images.

I reached the bottom of the screen and found the hidden folder section.

It required a separate password.

I typed his birthday. Error.

I typed our wedding anniversary. Error.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I thought about the way he had protected her. The way he stood in front of her.

I typed in Amanda's birth date. The exact day my parents celebrated with a massive party last week.

The folder unlocked.

I stared at the screen, my blood running cold.

There was only one photo inside.

It wasn't a picture from today. It wasn't a candid shot from a family dinner.

It was a photograph of a young ballet dancer, captured mid-spin on a brightly lit stage. She wore a white tutu, her hair pulled back into a tight bun.

I zoomed in on the dancer's face.

It was Amanda.

I checked the digital timestamp at the top of the screen.

*October 14th, 2019.*

Five years ago.

My parents had only found Amanda two months ago. Barry claimed he had never met her before she moved into my family's estate.

If Barry didn't know her until recently, why did he have a hidden picture of her dancing from five years ago?