After My Husband Faked His Death for His Mistress

The restaurant in Midtown was too expensive and too loud.

I wore a navy silk blouse with long sleeves and high cuffs. It hid the thick, pale scars running up both my forearms. On my left ring finger, the diamond solitaire from Matthias caught the warm light of the chandeliers.

Matthias had kissed my forehead before I left our apartment. *"Just two hours,"* he had said softly. *"If your chest gets tight, you call me. I'll come get you."*

It was my first corporate dinner in five years. A small consulting firm had finally offered me a part-time job. I wanted to prove to Matthias, and to myself, that I was finally putting the pieces back together. I wanted to be normal again.

Around eight o'clock, I excused myself to use the restroom.

The back hallway was quiet. It branched off into dimly lit corridors lined with dark wood panels. I took a wrong turn at the corner. I thought I was heading toward the lobby, so I pushed open a heavy double door.

It didn’t lead to the lobby.

The private room smelled like sweet lilies and roasted meat. Bunches of pink balloons floated against the ceiling. A glittering gold banner hung across the back wall: *Happy 100 Days, Maya!*

About twenty guests sat around a banquet table. At the head of the table sat a man cradling an infant wrapped in a pink blanket.

He was laughing. He had broad shoulders and a sharp, clean jawline.

My breath caught in my throat. My feet froze to the carpet.

It was Kade.

Kade Evans. My husband. The FDNY firefighter I buried five years ago.

Beside him sat Reese Gonzalez. She wore a tailored cream dress that set off her dark hair. Her cheeks were flushed with joy. Five years ago, Reese had stood beside me at Kade’s empty casket, sobbing so hard she had to lean on my shoulder. She had held my hand and promised we would survive his death together.

Then Kade looked up.

Our eyes met.

His smile vanished instantly. Every drop of color drained from his face, leaving his skin as pale as paper. His hands stiffened around the baby in his arms. The room went dead silent. The clinking of silverware stopped.

A soft chime came from the corner of the room. Behind the table, a large projector screen cycled to the next photo in a family slideshow.

It was a picture taken inside an ultrasound clinic. Reese was lying on the examination table, beaming. Kade stood beside her, his arm wrapped tight around her waist, grinning directly into the camera lens.

In the bottom right corner, a digital timestamp glowed in white numbers.

The date was seven days after the warehouse fire.

Seven days after the collapse that had allegedly burned his body to ash.

My whole world tilted, but the ground didn't swallow me.

In one split second, five years of living hell clicked into place. The media crews parked outside my apartment. The strangers who spat on my shoes and called me a murderer for calling his phone while he was on duty. The razor blade in the bathroom. The freezing black water of the East River in January. The bottle of sleeping pills that stopped my heart for forty-seven seconds.

My mother, Teresa, dying of heart failure all alone because our neighbors treated her like the mother of a killer.

My college roommate, Everlee, struck down and killed by a car in Brooklyn just two days before she could show a reporter the fake dental records.

Kade hadn't died.

He had walked away. He and Reese had built a new life on top of my ruined bones.

I waited for the scream to tear out of my throat. I waited for my legs to give out.

Nothing happened.

Instead, a strange, terrifying calm washed over me. It felt cold, like ice water running through my veins.

Right beside the doorway was an empty place setting. A full flute of champagne sat on the white cloth.

I reached out and picked it up. My fingers were steady. The nerve damage in my left hand usually made me shake, but right now, my grip was solid as stone.

I raised the glass toward Kade and Reese.

I looked right into Kade’s terrified, sweating face. Then I looked at Reese, whose red lips were parted in pure horror.

"Congratulations," I said.

My voice was quiet. It was smooth, polite, and entirely empty.

I set the flute back down on the table. It didn't clink. It didn't spill.

Then I turned on my heel and walked out the door.

Behind me, the room exploded into noise.

A chair scraped violently against the floorboards. Reese let out a high, ragged shriek. "Kade, don't! Stop!"

I didn't run. I walked down the carpeted hallway, one measured step after another.

Heavy, frantic footsteps sprinted after me.

Before I could reach the restaurant's main dining floor, a thick hand clamped around my left upper arm.

His fingers dug into the silk of my blouse with brutal force.

"Iris!"

Kade yanked me backward. He didn't take me toward the lobby where people could see us. He kicked open a metal service door, dragging me into a concrete stairwell.

"Let go of me," I said, my voice completely flat.

He didn't listen. He dragged me down a flight of stairs and shoved through the crash bar into the cold underground parking garage. The air was thick with the smell of gasoline and damp dust.

He slammed me back against the side of a black SUV.

His chest heaved. Sweat dripped down his temples. He gripped my shoulders, his eyes wild and bloodshot, staring at me like I was a nightmare he couldn't wake up from.

"How did you find me?" he rasped, his voice shaking with panic. "Who told you I was here? Why aren't you crying? Why aren't you screaming at me, Iris? Say something!"