He Made Her His Wife and Me His Secret

I helped my best friend, Clara Bellamy, climb out of poverty and become a parish schoolteacher. Now she was glowing, graceful, confident. No one would ever guess that five years ago, she was still picking eggs in a backyard chicken coop. But she was still frugal. She always said money shouldn’t be wasted. So whenever I was too busy, she gladly took the things I couldn’t use: free couple vacations I’d won, movie tickets about to expire, romantic restaurant reservations I’d already booked. My fiancé, Vincent DeLuca, never complained when I canceled on him. Even though he was the next heir to the mafia family, he was always gentle with me. He always said, “I’ll support your work, no matter how long it takes. I’ll wait for you.” Until that day. I had just applied for a six-month leave from the hospital to prepare for our wedding. While helping Clara fix her computer, her photo album synced automatically. The screen filled with photos. My best friend and my fiancé sitting side by side on a ski lift. Her leaning on his shoulder during a midnight movie. The two of them kissing under an island sunset. So all those dates I missed, she had gone in my place. Then a Signal voice message popped up. Vincent’s voice came through, low and amused. “She’s sleeping at the hospital tonight. Bring a few boxes of condoms when you come over, baby.” My hands shook as I shut the laptop. Then I grabbed my car keys and walked toward the hospital parking lot. ... I sped all the way to our wedding house. The second I pushed the door open, the air was thick with smoke and the smell of sex. The two people on the bed didn’t even have time to separate. Clara saw me first. She screamed, her face turning white. “Evelyn...” Vincent turned to look at me, then instinctively shielded her behind him. Clothes and wrappers were scattered all over the floor. I froze in place, so shocked I forgot how to breathe. I watched Vincent pick up Clara’s clothes from the floor and help her get dressed, piece by piece. He was gentle. Familiar. Then he walked her to the door and comforted her in a low voice. “Someone’s waiting downstairs. I’ll handle this.” I hadn’t even done anything yet. But he was already afraid I’d lose control and hurt his precious Clara. Something in my chest went hollow, like everything inside had been carved out. Then it was just me and him in the room. I stared at the face I had known since childhood. We had known each other for over twenty years. He once said he wanted to be my shadow and follow me forever. But now, that face felt so strange. Vincent took out a cigarette, lit it, and took a drag before looking at me. “You have nothing to say?” He was the one who betrayed me. So why was I the one standing there, lost and being questioned? “Vincent DeLuca. How could you two do this to me?” He flicked the ash from his cigarette. His tone was calm. “I admit I messed up. But Evelyn, ask yourself. What have you given me these past few years?” “You’re always busy. Always in surgery. I ask you to dinner, you have surgery. I ask you to watch a movie, you’re on duty. I can’t even argue with you unless I book a time three days in advance.” He sounded wronged when he said it. As if I was the one at fault. As if I was the one who cheated. “Clara is different.” His voice softened when he said her name. “She cares about how I feel. She remembers what I say. She does the things I want to do.” “She went on every date you missed.” “To her, I come first.” Every word cut into my heart. “Vincent DeLuca! I was already like this when you met me. I never changed!” He frowned, like I was being unreasonable. “Right. You didn’t change. But I’m tired of waiting.” My voice shook. “So you slept with my best friend?” He was silent for two seconds. “I told you. This isn’t her fault.” I took a deep breath, walked up to him, and slapped him across the face. “You really have no heart. How could you do this to me?” He didn’t dodge. The cigarette fell from his fingers, sparks landing on the sheets. He looked up at me. Finally, there was some emotion in his eyes. “Is that enough? If not, hit me again.” “When you’re done, don’t go after Clara.” I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, my phone rang. It was the hospital. “Dr. Moretti, surgery starts in half an hour.” Vincent suddenly gave a soft laugh. It was quiet, but it pierced my ears like a needle. “Go on, Dr. Moretti. Your fiancé just slept with your best friend, and you still have to go back for surgery.” “You really are the most tolerant woman I’ve ever seen.” I gripped my phone so tightly my fingers turned white. Afraid my tears would fall, I turned and left.

The lights in the operating room were blinding. I held back my tears and kept my hand steady on the scalpel. No one could tell that half an hour ago, I had caught my fiancé and my best friend in my bed. By the time the surgery ended, my wrist was so sore I could barely lift it. “Dr. Moretti, congratulations,” the anesthesiologist said with a smile while filling out the records. “I heard you’re taking six months off for your wedding. Everyone in the department is saying Mr. DeLuca, the man who sends you flowers every single day, finally got our ice queen Dr. Moretti to marry him.” My grip tightened around the paper cup. For the past few months, I had used up all my saved vacation days for that six-month wedding leave. I scheduled every surgery I could in advance. I worked until I passed out from low blood sugar in the changing room, then got up, drank a bottle of glucose, and went right back to work. One day, Vincent came to pick me up and saw how pale I was. For once, he frowned. “Can’t you be nicer to yourself?” I smiled and asked, “Worried about me, Mr. DeLuca?” He pulled me into his arms. “Eve, I can’t wait to marry you. I want to spoil you every day.” Now I realized, by then, those arms had already held someone else. Everything I had done these past few months was a joke. “Yeah.” I only said one word. I was afraid if I said one more, I would break down. I went into the changing room. The moment I locked the door, I slid down against it and sat on the floor. My shoulders shook hard. Tears slipped through my fingers, and I couldn’t stop them. I had never been able to get rid of Vincent since we were kids. He followed me everywhere like a shadow. When I was nine, I snapped at him, “Can you stop following me?” He lowered his head and said, “I want to be your shadow. Wherever you go, I’ll go.” At eighteen, he handed me a note. “I don’t want to be your shadow anymore. I want to stand beside you.” That was when we got together. From eighteen to twenty-eight, for ten whole years, he kept every promise. If I worked late, he came to pick me up. If I got sick, he took leave to take care of me. He remembered every word I said. Everyone said this was what love should look like. And I believed it. I took out my phone and saw the message Clara had sent two hours ago. Clara: Evelyn, I know I wronged you. But I really love him. I’ll do anything you want. Please let us be together, okay? I stared at those words and almost laughed. Clara must have forgotten how she got out of that chicken coop in the first place. Back then, her grandmother was seriously ill. She couldn’t afford the medical bills and knelt in the hospital hallway, crying helplessly. I paid for the surgery. I arranged everything for her. I paid her tuition and encouraged her to get her teaching license. She once said I was the person who changed her life. She said, “Evelyn, you’re the last person I would ever betray.” And now? She was sleeping with my fiancé, asking me to bless their so-called love. But who was going to give back the ten years I gave him? My phone screen blurred. I wiped my tears and was about to stand up. Just then, I heard nurses talking outside. “Did you hear? A patient came into the ER. She was pregnant and had heavy bleeding after sex.” “The baby survived. But her husband looked like someone important. He said if the baby didn’t make it, he’d make sure this hospital shut down.” “No wonder he’s mafia. So arrogant...” “That’s not even the point. The point is, that man looked exactly like Dr. Moretti’s fiancé!” “Oh my God. She’s already pregnant? Then is Dr. Moretti the mistress?” Their footsteps slowly faded away. I leaned against the door, my whole body cold. My nails dug into my palms so hard they drew blood. Then I shoved the door open and rushed out.

Through the glass window of the ward, I saw them. Vincent’s voice was soft, like he was coaxing a child. “Drink slowly. It’s hot.” I pushed the door open. Clara saw me first. “Eve... Evelyn...” Vincent turned around. The second he saw me, he instinctively shifted to block Clara behind him. His voice turned cold. “I told you. Don’t come after her.” I stared at Clara’s flat stomach. “You’re pregnant?” Clara’s tears fell. She turned her face away, too afraid to look at me. “Yes,” Vincent answered for her. “It’s mine. Three months.” Three months. Three months ago, Vincent said he had to go out of state for family business. Then an earthquake hit there. No messages. No calls. Nothing. I took leave overnight and drove there to find him. Halfway there, an aftershock hit. I was thrown forward, my stomach slamming into the steering wheel. The baby I hadn’t even had time to tell anyone about was gone in that chaos. When Vincent arrived, he knelt by my bed and held me, his voice shaking. “I’m sorry, Eve... We’ll have another child. We will...” That was the first time I saw him cry. I touched his hair and said, “As long as you’re safe. We can have another baby later.” So he hadn’t gone for business at all. He had been with Clara. That was when they had their child. And I lost ours on the way to find him. “Evelyn...” Clara’s voice pulled me back. Her eyes were red. She looked pitiful. “The baby can’t grow up without a father... Please let us be together...” Slap. My palm landed hard across her face. The ward went quiet for a second. Then Clara covered her face and started crying. Vincent shot to his feet and grabbed my wrist. “Evelyn Moretti! That’s enough! If you’re angry, take it out on me!” His eyes were full of rage. In twenty years, he had barely ever lost his temper with me. And every time, it was because I worked too hard and didn’t take care of myself. But now, he was angry at me because of the woman he cheated with. “Take it out on you? Vincent, do you even deserve that?” I shook off his hand and stepped back. Something slipped out of my pocket and fell to the floor. It was an Italian dagger. Vincent and I both froze. Three years ago, on the day he proposed, he put the ring on my finger. Then he placed that dagger in my hand. “Evelyn, you’re the only woman I’ll ever choose. If one day I betray you, take this knife and stab me to death.” I looked down at the knife, my head buzzing. Then I bent down and picked it up. In that moment, all the hurt and rage in my chest rushed up at once. My eyes burned red. I really wanted to stab him. I wanted to press the blade against his heart and ask him why. How dare he? I wanted him to hurt too. I wanted him to know what it felt like to be stabbed in the back by the person he loved most. Clara screamed and spread her arms in front of Vincent. “Evelyn, don’t hurt him! I’m the one who wronged you. This has nothing to do with him!” I held the knife and took one step toward them. Just one step. Vincent’s eyes changed. He yanked Clara behind him and shoved me hard. I flew backward. The back of my head hit the floor, and my ears rang. When my vision cleared, I saw him holding Clara in his arms. His voice was soft. Gentle. “Did you hurt your stomach?” Clara cried and shook her head. From beginning to end, he never looked at me once. The hallway was full of people. “Oh my God, is that Dr. Moretti? Poor thing...” “Dr. Moretti always seems so calm. Why is she acting like a lunatic...” I lay on the floor, the back of my head throbbing. When I was eight, my mother left me with my alcoholic, abusive father. I knelt on the floor, grabbed her hand, and asked her why until I cried myself unconscious. After that, I never broke down over anyone again. I didn’t cry when a surgery failed. I didn’t even cry when I lost my baby. Vincent was the one who warmed me little by little. He spent twenty years making me believe I could be loved and cherished too. And he was also the one who turned me back into a lunatic. I pushed myself up from the floor and walked out. It was fine. I only had myself left. And that was enough.

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