April suddenly cornered me, her eyes red and rimmed with exhausted tears, demanding to know why I was constantly protecting Gemma. She reminded me, her voice cracking, that she was my wife. In that exact moment, a bitter clarity washed over me. I finally understood why she had been so relentless about bringing Oliver—her chronically ill childhood sweetheart—into our home. The untouchable first love. The ghost of what could have been. The damage they can inflict is legendary for a reason. Just a few hours prior, Gemma had stood on my porch, soaked to the bone, missing the sight in one eye. I hadn't seen her in years. She looked brittle, her eyes clouded with a dark, heavy melancholy. The slightest touch made her flinch violently. My heart ached so fiercely I bypassed all logic, ushering her directly into our house. These past few days, I’ve poured every ounce of myself into caring for her. Coaxing her, sitting with her in the quiet, making sure she felt safe. I was so consumed by it, I realized I no longer even had the energy to fight with April. 1 It was raining in sheets the second time I saw Gemma. I was leaning against the porch pillars of our house, staring up at the pitch-black sky, a hollow kind of despair echoing in my chest. Oliver had mentioned, offhandedly, that he’d never seen the ocean. So, April simply forgot our wedding anniversary. She dropped every single one of her work commitments and flew him out to Santorini. It wasn't the first time. Ever since Oliver moved back to the States, everything about him took precedence over me. At dinners, we ate whatever his fragile stomach could handle. On weekends, we went wherever his restless mind desired. I kept forcing myself to swallow the resentment. I told myself Oliver had a severe heart condition. That he was pitiable. That I needed to be the bigger person and make space for him. That was the narrative I clung to. Right up until April’s birthday. I had dressed up for her, slipping into that tailored uniform she always loved, and straddled her lap. Her breath hitched instantly. Her hands gripped my hips, pulling me down with a fierce, hungry intensity. And then, the phone rang. Not just any ringtone. The custom chime she had set exclusively for him. God, I wanted her to ignore it. I wanted her to be so consumed by me, by us, that the rest of the world ceased to exist. But reality is a cruel director. The chime rang for exactly three seconds before the desire completely bled out of her eyes. She answered it, muttered two frantic sentences, grabbed her coat, and rushed out the door. Leaving me alone. Tangled in the sheets, breathless, and utterly discarded. Even then, I tried to rationalize it. What if he was actually having a medical emergency? He really was sick, after all. I spent hours pacing the dark house, coaxing my bruised ego back into something resembling peace. Then I opened my phone. The first thing on my feed was Oliver’s latest post. It was a picture of a misshapen, homemade cake. The frosting letters were shaky, the piping was a disaster. But my eyes immediately locked onto the corner of the frame. A sliver of a woman's hand rested on the table. On her ring finger was the exact match to my wedding band. April. My brain desperately scrambled for an excuse, an alibi, anything. Then I read his caption, and the world just stopped spinning. “The Princess never breaks her oath. She will always protect her Knight. But this time, the Knight isn’t hurt. He made a little surprise instead! Baked with my own two hands. Happy Birthday to my most loyal Princess~” He wasn't in the hospital. He wasn't dying. My heart felt like it had been fileted open. The pain was so sharp, so blinding, that my eyes burned. I curled into a tight ball on the edge of the sofa, unable to stop the violent tremors wracking my body. The next afternoon, April came home. We had the most explosive, shattering fight of our marriage. And the result? She moved Oliver directly into our house. I fought it with everything I had. I screamed until my throat was raw, demanding she throw him out. Right on cue, Oliver clutched his chest, gasped for air, and was rushed away in an ambulance. Since then, my life had devolved into a sick, twisted purgatory. It always started with a screaming match with April, and ended with Oliver in a hospital bed. A perfect, inescapable loop. Now, all I felt was bone-deep exhaustion. I could turn on every light in this massive house, and it wouldn't chase away the chill. I was so incredibly lonely. Right then, a strange prickle on the back of my neck made me look up. Through the driving rain, I locked onto a pair of eyes—so familiar, yet entirely foreign. 2 It was Gemma. She was standing beneath the amber glow of a streetlamp just beyond our driveway. She looked so entirely different. She was gaunt. That fierce, radiant arrogance she used to carry was entirely gone, replaced by overgrown bangs that hung limply over half her face. She didn't have an umbrella. The rain had plastered her thin white dress to her fragile frame. She looked like a stray dog, beaten down by the world. Suddenly, her shoulders flinched. She realized I was looking at her. Panic seized her, and she pivoted, trying to flee into the dark. But something was terribly wrong with her coordination. She barely took two steps before her legs gave out, sending her crashing onto the wet asphalt. All my quiet, suffocating grief vanished. I bolted off the porch, sprinting into the downpour, and pulled her up by her arms. "Gemma? My god, are you alright?" In the weak, flickering light of the streetlamp, I pushed the wet hair from her face. My breath caught in my throat. "What happened to your eye?" One of her eyes was a milky, clouded gray. There was no life in it, no reflection of the light. Just a dead, foggy abyss. She turned her head away sharply, like a terrified stray cat, burying her face in the shadows. "I can't... I can't see out of this one," she whispered, her voice violently shaking. My heart shattered for her. She had been the brilliant, untouchable girl I chased through my adolescence. Seeing her reduced to this broke something inside me. I guided her gently into the house, grabbing a thick, plush towel from the hall closet and wrapping it around her shivering shoulders. "Go take a hot shower. Please. Before you freeze to death." Gemma nodded mutely. She kept her eyes cast down, her pale, trembling fingers struggling to grasp the wet buttons of her dress. I quickly turned around, giving her privacy. "Go ahead. I'll run up and grab you some dry clothes." I jogged up to the master closet, pulling out a set of April's silk pajamas. But when I came back down, Gemma was still standing outside the bathroom, frozen, her fingers clumsily wrestling with the same button. She felt my gaze and dropped her chin to her chest, her cheeks burning with deep humiliation. "I... ever since I lost my sight, my motor skills are misfiring. The doctors called it sensory processing disorder..." A violent shudder ran through her, the last bit of color draining from her lips. Every rational thought in my head evaporated. I dropped the clothes and rushed over. "It's okay. Let me help." She went completely still, incredibly docile, just watching me as my fingers worked the soaked buttons loose, one by one. At one point, my knuckle accidentally brushed against the icy skin of her collarbone. She let out a sharp, involuntary gasp, and the tips of her ears flushed crimson. Suddenly, her hand shot out, gripping my wrist tight. "I-I can do it..." she stammered. The sudden intimacy hit me like a delayed shockwave. I felt a rush of heat to my own face and was just about to pull away when a furious voice ripped through the silence. "Colin! What the hell are you doing?!" I snapped my head around. April was standing in the foyer, her coat dripping water onto the hardwood. My brow furrowed instantly. "What are you doing here?" "If I hadn't come home, were you just going to fuck her in my hallway?!" Her face was twisted in absolute rage, but honestly, all I felt was a rising, suffocating irritation. "April, watch your mouth. Gemma is an old friend. There is nothing going on between us!" "Nothing going on? I just walked in on you undressing her! You call that nothing?!" "Are you incapable of listening? I just told you—" Before I could fully launch into the fight, Gemma’s cold hand tightened around mine. "Colin, please. This is all my fault. Don't fight with your wife because of me." She stepped away from me, turned to April, and offered a deep, trembling bow. "April, please don't misunderstand him. I've been very sick. He was only trying to help me because my hands won't work. I just wanted to see him one last time... and I have. I'll leave right now. I'm so sorry for intruding." Her voice was so fragile it threatened to break on every syllable. A fierce wave of protectiveness surged through me. I pulled her back by her arm. "Don't listen to her, Gemma. You're staying here. I'm going to take care of you." "Are you out of your damn mind, Colin?!" April screamed. "Who the hell moves another woman into their house to 'take care' of her?!" Just as the words left her mouth, a soft, weak voice drifted out from the hallway behind her. "April... are you fighting with Colin over me again?" 3 April froze, the anger draining from her face, leaving a stunned silence in its wake. Seeing she wasn't going to answer, Oliver stepped out of the shadows. When his eyes landed on Gemma, a brief flicker of surprise crossed his face. But it was gone in a second. His eyes instantly welled up with tears, and he looked at me with this sickeningly pathetic, pleading expression. "This is all my fault, Colin. I never should have mentioned I wanted to see the ocean. Then April wouldn't have left you to take me to Santorini." He turned his tragic gaze back to her. "Thank God the storm grounded our flight. You should stay here with him tonight, April. I'll go pack my things." April’s face instantly crumpled into pure devotion. "Oliver, no. You are not leaving. This is your home. You stay exactly as long as you need to!" Normally, this is where I would snap. Where I would demand to know how she could unilaterally give away half the house that I paid for. But tonight? I just nodded, letting a cold smile touch my lips. "You're absolutely right. Which means the exact same rules apply to Gemma. This is your home now, Gemma. Stay as long as you want. Don't worry about what anyone else says." April stared at me like I had lost my mind. "'Anyone else'? Colin, I am your wife!" Before I could even formulate a response, Oliver gasped, his hand clutching the fabric over his heart. "April... it hurts." It was like a switch flipped. April forgot I even existed. She wrapped her arms around him and half-carried him toward his bedroom. I let out a long, heavy exhale, practically pushing Gemma into the bathroom to finally get warm. While she showered, I went to the hall closet and pulled out April’s most expensive silk sheets, the ones she saved for special occasions, and meticulously made the bed in the guest room. When I finished, I stood guard outside the bathroom door. With her sensory issues, I was terrified she might slip and crack her head open. While I was waiting, April came marching down the hall, holding a glass of water for Oliver’s medication. She paused, looking at me with a cold, mocking sneer. "You don't need to play the pathetic simp for some stray just to get back at me, Colin." I opened my mouth to tell her exactly where she could shove her arrogance, but the bathroom door clicked open. April’s eyes practically bugged out of her head. Her voice hit a shrill, hysterical pitch. "Colin! Did you seriously put that bitch in my pajamas?!" Gemma, still flushed from the steam, instantly panicked. Her hands hovered nervously over the silk fabric, her lip trembling. "Colin, I'm so sorry, I didn't know these were hers. I'll take them off right now—" I caught her wrists. "You are not taking off anything. Your clothes are ruined. You're wearing these." I turned my glare entirely on April. "Can you be any more petty? It's a piece of fabric. Get over it." April's chest heaved, her face red with pure fury. "It’s not about the clothes, Colin! Do you even remember who the woman of this house is?!" Just then, Oliver’s bedroom door swung open. "April? Is everything okay? You've been gone a long time..." He was wearing the monogrammed robe April had bought for us as a couple's set. On his wrist was the silver watch she had given me for my last birthday. April went completely, dead silent. She shoved the glass of water into Oliver’s hands. When he tried to pull her back into his room, she stepped away. "Get some rest. I need to take care of something." She grabbed my arm with a vice grip and hauled me down the hall, dragging me into our master bedroom. She obviously wanted to have it out. To scream. To justify herself. But I didn't want to hear a single word. I yanked my arm free, turned on my heel, and walked right back out. I made sure Gemma was completely settled into the guest room, brought her a glass of warm milk, and only then did I return to my own bedroom. April had been waiting for a long time. She was sitting by the large bay window, enveloped in a cloud of thick gray smoke. The ashtray beside her was already choked with cigarette butts. I pinched the bridge of my nose, walked over, and shoved the window open. "Is this all you know how to do when things get hard? Chain-smoke? You could learn a thing or two from Gemma. She treats her body with respect." April actually choked on her inhale. She coughed violently, her eyes watering, before she glared at me, her voice dripping with venom. "Is there literally anything else you can talk about besides Gemma?" "I don't know," I said, my voice deadpan. "Is there anything else you can talk about besides Oliver?" Hearing his name, her face contorted into that familiar, defensive annoyance. She opened her mouth, ready to call me insecure and jealous again, but as she turned, her eyes landed on the small table by the door. Sitting there, perfectly untouched, was the anniversary cake I had ordered. Lonely. Forgotten. The realization hit her like a physical blow. She remembered what today was. Our fifth wedding anniversary. Instantly, the venom drained from her posture. Her voice went incredibly soft. "Colin... I am so sorry. I completely forgot what today was. I promise, I'll make it up to you." She stepped closer, her eyes entirely fixed on mine. "I've already booked Oliver's heart surgery. As soon as his rehab is done, I'll send him away. I promise. Okay?" When April turns on that deep, consuming tenderness, it’s like staring into a dark pool—you just want to let yourself drown in it. For a split second, I almost gave in. I almost said okay. Then, a soft knock echoed through the room. 4 "Colin? Are you asleep?" I completely ignored the way April’s face darkened into thunder. I bypassed her and opened the door. "I'm awake. What's wrong?" Gemma was standing there, her eyes downcast, her fingers twisting the hem of the silk shirt with agonizing anxiety. "Colin, I... ever since I lost my sight, my anxiety at night is unbearable. I keep having panic attacks. I can't sleep..." How could the universe be so cruel to someone so fragile? My chest physically ached for her. I reached out, gently wrapping my hand over her trembling fingers, dropping my voice to a soft murmur. "Hey, it's okay. I'm right here. I'll sit with you until you fall asleep, I promise." I started guiding her back down the hall, but April snapped. She threw herself between us, her eyes wild. "Colin! You are going to go sleep in another woman's room?! I am your wife!" Gemma didn't argue. She didn't shout back. Her eyes just filled with quiet, defeated tears. And just like that, whatever fractured loyalty I had left for April evaporated. I pulled Gemma behind me, shielding her, and leveled a glare at April that could cut glass. "Do you have zero empathy, April? She's terrified and she's disabled. Can you not put your ego aside for five minutes to let someone else breathe?!" Our voices had risen enough to carry. Down the hall, Oliver’s door crept open. He stood in the doorframe, clutching a plush rabbit, looking at April with wide, panicked eyes. "April? I just had a really awful nightmare. My chest is feeling tight again. Can you come sit with me? Just for a little while?" April froze again. Ever since Oliver moved in, she had spent almost every single night sitting by his bed. The silence stretched out, heavy and suffocating. Finally, April swallowed hard and looked at him. "Oliver, we aren't kids anymore. It isn't appropriate for me to sit in your room all night. If you're scared, just leave the lamp on." Oliver’s face went paper white. Tears pooled in his eyes instantly, and he gave a pathetic, trembling nod before stepping back into his room. But I knew the game he was playing. He wasn't going to take that hit lying down. Sure enough, three minutes later, a loud, violent crash echoed from his room. April didn't even hesitate. She kicked his door open and found him slumped weakly against the nightstand. She forgot about me. She forgot about Gemma. She scooped him up in a blind panic and rushed him straight out the door to the hospital. I honestly didn't care. I led Gemma back to the guest room and pulled up a chair. She wasn't lying about her anxiety. It was brutal. She kept waking up with sudden, sharp gasps, her hand flying out into the dark until it found mine. Only when she felt my pulse would she settle back into a fitful sleep. I stayed by her side the entire night. Just as April stayed by Oliver's. When April finally dragged herself back into the house the next morning, exhausted and smelling of hospital antiseptic, she found the house entirely empty. Gemma had mentioned offhandedly that she missed looking at the stars without the city lights. So, I took my accrued PTO, booked two first-class tickets, and flew her to Hawaii. When we got back, the dynamic shifted entirely. We were living parallel lives. April was consumed with her work and rushing to the hospital to coddle Oliver. I was managing my projects and spending every free second ensuring Gemma was comfortable. We existed in the same house, but we didn't cross paths for weeks. After coming home to an empty bedroom for the thirty-seventh time, April finally hit her breaking point. She hired a private investigator to pull every single public and private record on Gemma. When she opened the dossier, the first thing she did was drop a string of violent curses. "Bullshit. She's three years older than me, and she’s out here calling me 'April dear' like she's some innocent little fawn?" She paced the office, fuming, before forcing herself to read the rest of the file. The further down she read, the paler she got. Halfway through the document, she slammed it shut, canceled all her afternoon meetings, and drove straight home. I was at the office. Oliver was at his latest 'specialist' appointment. Gemma was home alone. April didn't make a sound. She slipped off her heels, crept down the hall, and pushed open the guest room door. And then, she froze, her jaw practically hitting the floor.
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