His Uncle's Bride

My husband was broken.
And at his own birthday party, he didn't even bother to hide it.
You're a therapist, he sneered. Why don't you psychoanalyze yourself before you make a scene?
He was right. I am a therapist. And I know exactly how to make a faithless man repent.

1
The sight of Charlie, my husband, his arms wrapped tightly around another woman, their lips locked in a passionate kiss, made my world shrink to a single, sharp point.
I strode forward, my voice tight. "Charlie, what the hell are you doing?"
The woman flinched, burrowing deeper into his arms like a frightened animal.
Charlies face hardened, his tone dripping with annoyance. "Isn't it obvious? Do I really need to spell it out for you?"
He then softened his voice, cooing at the woman in his embrace. "It's okay, baby. Don't be scared."
My eyes burned. "This is how you treat me?" I choked out, the words thick with unshed tears. "You swore to me. You said it would only ever be me."
Charlies hand, which had been stroking the womans back, paused. He looked up at me, his eyes cold with scorn. "Those were just words. I'm bored of you now. I wanted to try something new. Is that a crime?"
He added, as if tossing me a scrap of charity, "You can keep the title of Mrs. Tinkcom. But only if you don't make a scene."
The words were like daggers to my heart.
He once whispered, "My Dahlia, you should always shine this brightly. I swear, I'll never let you down."
"You're a treasure," he'd said. "You'll always be my Mrs. Tinkcom."
A tear finally escaped, tracing a cold path down my cheek.
Charlies face twisted in disgust. "You never used to be so melodramatic. All you do now is cry. It's my birthday, for God's sake. You're ruining it."
I lunged forward, grabbing the front of his shirt. "You forgot your promise! You said you would love me for the rest of your life!"
That seemed to be the final straw. He seized my wrist, his grip like iron, and flung me away from him. "What promise?" he snarled, his voice low and menacing. "Are you done yet? Don't force me to humiliate you in front of everyone."
"Besides," he added with a cruel smirk, "so what if I found someone else? Youre a therapist, aren't you, Clara? Can't even fix your own broken heart?"
I collapsed to the floor, the world blurring around me. I watched their backs as they walked away, my mouth open but no words coming out.
It was Charlie's birthday. I couldn't let him lose face in front of his guests.

2
I staggered to my feet, my soul feeling as battered as my body, and brushed the dust from my dress. A sharp sting made me look down at my palm. Id scraped it open, and tiny beads of blood were welling to the surface. My gorgeous evening gown was now streaked with dirt, its elegance ruined.
Just like my marriage. Once beautiful, now utterly stained.
A bitter laugh escaped my lips as I fought back a fresh wave of tears. "I'm a therapist," I whispered to myself. "Does that mean I'm supposed to calmly accept my husband's betrayal?"
Before I could sink further into my despair, the house manager found me. His eyes were filled with pity as he took in my disheveled state. "Ma'am, you should go change. You're expected back at the party soon. Don't let them have the satisfaction of gossiping about you."
Dressed in a fresh gown, I made my way to the backyard patio where the party was in full swing. The chatter and laughter died down as I appeared, a wave of silence rippling through the crowd.
A sweet, cloying voice broke the tension. "Oh, Mrs. Tinkcom, you're here! Perfect timing! Charlie was just about to cut the cake. He almost asked me to do it with him, he thought you weren't coming back."
She pouted playfully at Charlie, a gesture that was less of a complaint and more of a flirtation. "It's all your fault, Charlie. I almost overstepped. People might have thought I have no manners."
I recognized her. It was the woman from before, the one in Charlie's arms. Scarlett Vance, a rising starlet his company was promoting.
I stared at her, my face a mask of indifference, and mimicked her saccharine tone. "Oh, I think your manners are perfectly clear. In fact, anyone would be forgiven for thinking you were Mrs. Tinkcom."
Scarletts eyes instantly filled with tears. Before she could let out a single sob, Charlie leaped to her defense. He stepped in front of her, his gaze burning with fury. "Clara, have you not caused enough trouble for one night? Was that sarcasm really necessary? When did you become so vicious?"
"Maybe you need a little shock to clear your head."
With that, he grabbed my arm and started dragging me towards the swimming pool, ignoring the cumbersome weight of my gown. I struggled, I screamed, but not a single person moved to stop him.
"Charlie, I'm afraid of the water! Let me go!"
I thought that would make him stop. I was wrong. A cruel smile touched his lips as he released his grip.
"How else am I supposed to know if you're telling the truth, Mrs. Tinkcom?"
My heart turned to ash. I closed my eyes, bracing for the icy plunge.
But instead of cold water, I fell into a pair of strong, warm arms.
My eyes flew open to see a handsome face looming over mine. He looked familiar, but my mind was too scrambled to place him. He gently set me down in a nearby lounge chair before turning to Charlie with a mocking eyebrow raise.
"My dear nephew," he drawled, the words dripping with sarcasm. "The first thing I see upon my return is you manhandling your own wife. Does your grandfather know about this?"
Charlies face darkened. "Uncle Ethan," he bit out, his jaw tight. "It's good to see you. But this is a private family matter. If you're here for the party, you're welcome. Otherwise, stay out of it."
Ethan let out a sharp laugh, as if Charlie had just told the funniest joke in the world. "You know what they used to call men like you? Weak. Unfit to lead. Choosing your mistress over your wife."
I watched as Charlie's face turned a blotchy red, as if Ethan had struck a nerve. He finally exploded.
"All you ever do is use Grandpa to put me down! You call me unfit? What about you? You're a damn psycho! If it weren't for"
He cut himself off, his voice fading as if he remembered who he was talking to.
The party ended abruptly. The cake was never cut. Charlie sent everyone home, including his uncle, Ethan.
I knew Charlie despised his younger uncle. He'd once told me, hissing the words, that Ethan was a genuine, certifiable lunatic.
As the last guest departed, a profound sadness washed over me. A near-stranger had defended me more fiercely than the man who had sworn to protect methe very man who was the source of all my pain.
I didn't offer Charlie my usual comfort. I simply turned to leave.
I'd only taken two steps when his voice, low and laced with anger, stopped me.
"The way that psycho Ethan was staring at you... his eyes were practically glued to you. Are you planning on cheating?"
I summoned the last of my patience. "I have never once thought about cheating. You're the one parading your starlet around. And for the record, I wasn't even looking at him."
Charlies brow relaxed slightly. "Parading her around? Don't be so dramatic. I already told you, you'll always be Mrs. Tinkcom. What more do you want?"
I couldn't talk to him anymore. It was like speaking to a brick wall.
"Happy birthday," I said, and walked away.
Maybe I was a glutton for punishment, still offering him that small kindness after everything.

3
The next morning, I escaped to my sanctuary: the therapy studio I had built from the ground up. Only here, immersed in my work, could I forget the wounds Charlie had inflicted. Here, I felt valued. Here, I felt needed.
But today, my sanctuary was invaded by two unwelcome visitors.
My husband, and his employee. Or more accurately, the woman who had shattered our marriage, Scarlett Vance.
They walked in holding hands, Charlie playing the part of the doting partner. He shooed away my scheduled client and stood over my desk, looking down at me with an air of command.
"Clara. Scarlett needs a session. She's been dealing with a lot of online harassment."
Even at my lowest, I had my limits. I would not treat my husband's mistress as a patient.
"I'm sorry," I said, my voice cold. "This clinic is too small for a 'goddess' like her. You should try a major hospital."
Charlie's face turned to thunder. "What did you just say? You'll see her, right now. Or I'll make sure this place loses its license."
Scarlett immediately clutched his arm, her voice a tremulous plea. "Charlie, don't be angry. I'm sure Mrs. Tinkcom is just afraid she won't be able to help me. That's why she's refusing."
"It's all my fault," she whimpered, tears already glistening in her eyes. "I never should have suggested coming here. Please, don't fight because of me."
As a tear rolled down her perfectly sculpted cheek, Charlie melted. He pulled her into his arms right in front of me, stroking her hair and murmuring reassurances.
"Shh, don't cry, don't cry. My Scarlett is the most beautiful. Don't let someone like her upset you. The company needs you."
His voice was so gentle it felt like a physical blow. I drifted for a moment, remembering all the times I had cried to him.
"Clara, you're Charlie Tinkcom's wife," he would say, his tone impatient. "You need to be strong. Crying doesn't solve anything."
I used to think he was just emotionally distant. But now I knew the truth. I just wasn't the right person. I wasn't worthy of his comfort.
It had all been in my head.
Because of his words, I had stopped crying in front of him long ago. I learned to soothe my own wounds, to be my own counselor.
My silence seemed to infuriate Charlie further. He snatched a potted plant from my desk and smashed it on the floor.
"See her now!" he roared. "Or I'll tear this place apart. I paid for it, after all."
I looked up at him, my own tears threatening to spill. "You promised," I whispered. "You promised you would never interfere with my work. That you would always support me."
"I..."
For a split second, a flicker of unease crossed his face. He looked almost... panicked.
But before he could process it, Scarlett's voice cut through the tension. "Charlie, I don't feel well. If Mrs. Tinkcom doesn't want to, we shouldn't force her. Let's just go."
"No. You're getting your session today."
He knelt beside her, all his attention focused on her distress. "It's okay, Scarlett. I'll make sure you get the help you need."
He stood up, his mouth opening to threaten me again.
But I beat him to it, turning my gaze to Scarlett.
"I'll see you."

4
I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and forced myself to see Scarlett as just another patient.
After running a series of diagnostic tests, I stared at the results, a deep frown creasing my forehead.
Charlie burst into the room without knocking. "Clara, how is she? What's the verdict?"
I didn't answer. The data on the report was too clean, too perfect. The scores were so extreme they looked deliberately fabricated.
Charlie snatched the papers from my hand. His eyes scanned the page and landed on the conclusion: Preliminary diagnosis: Severe Major Depressive Disorder, compounded by severe affection deprivation.
"Charlie, these results are questionable," I said, trying to remain professional. "We need to run more tests. And Miss Vance," I added, turning a skeptical eye on her, "were you completely honest in your responses?"
She flinched as if I'd struck her, letting out a series of soft whimpers. She swayed, looking as if she might faint at any moment.
Charlie's hand cracked across my face. The sting was sharp, shocking.
"What kind of therapist are you?" he raged. "You screw up the diagnosis, and then you have the nerve to accuse Scarlett of lying!"
I stood there, stunned. He had never, ever laid a hand on me before. But for this woman, he would cross any line, humiliate me in any way.
From the safety of Charlie's arms, Scarlett peeked at me. A triumphant, vicious smile played on her lips as she mouthed two silent words: You lose.
Something inside me snapped. With a guttural scream, I shoved them both out of my office, out of my sanctuary.
Charlie, startled by my feral rage, simply stared for a moment, his eyes wide with shock, before scooping Scarlett into his arms and leaving.
I looked at the wreckage of my officethe shattered pot, the scattered soil. And then, a laugh escaped my lips. A wild, unhinged sound.
"Hah... haha... hahaha..."
It was the kind of laughter that comes when sorrow becomes so immense, it can only curdle into madness.

5
When I got home, Charlie was sitting on the sofa, arms crossed over his chest. I tried to ignore his intense gaze and head upstairs.
In a flash, he was on his feet, pulling me into his arms. He nuzzled my neck, his voice a placating murmur. "Clara, baby, I'm sorry. I was just so worried about Scarlett today, that's why I hit you. It was a mistake."
"Her situation could really hurt the company," he continued, as if that explained everything. "I wasn't trying to give you a hard time, I promise. Forgive me? Look, I even made you dinner."
The casual way he tried to erase the day's events made me want to laugh and scream at the same time. I was about to speak when his phone rang. He answered, and a woman's frantic voice came through the speaker.
"Mr. Tinkcom, you have to come quick! Scarlett's having an episode! She's locked herself in her room, she's hurting herself, and we can't get the door open!"
Charlie's hand, which had been holding mine, dropped away. He grabbed his car keys and was gone in a blur.
I looked at the cold bowl of noodles on the table.
Of course. I should have known.
Charlie had drained me of so much energy, so much love. I didn't know how much longer I could sustain this marriage.
One last chance. I would give him one last chance. If he failed again, I was done. I knew I had a tendency to love too much, to let my heart rule my head. Falling for him had been my own foolish mistake, but who can control matters of the heart?
Later that night, as I lay in our empty bed, my phone buzzed. It was a picture.
A naked picture of Scarlett and Charlie, tangled together in bed.
A text followed immediately.
Mrs. Tinkcom, Charlie won't be coming home tonight. We just finished, and we're both a little tired.
Hes so gentle, you know? Wouldn't want me to feel a second of pain. He even cleaned me up afterwards.
He says it's a shame you could never give him a child. Do you think I'll get pregnant with his baby?
My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise, then shattered into a million pieces.
Charlie was never gentle with me. After sex, he would simply roll over and fall asleep, leaving me to deal with the aftermath alone. He never once showed me such tenderness. When I asked him to be softer, hed just say he wasn't good at it and tell me to bear with it.
The irony was so cruel it was physically painful.
As a professional, I knew the name for this feeling: broken heart syndrome, a real condition where intense emotional stress causes the heart to malfunction.
This time, Charlie had extinguished the very last spark of love I had for him.
The healer cannot heal herself. What a pathetic joke.
This title, Mrs. Tinkcom... I didn't want it anymore. To hell with it.
I typed out a reply.
Then I wish you two a long and happy life together. Try not to ruin anyone else's.
My training, my very instinct for self-preservation, was screaming at me. I had to get out of this marriage, or I would become one of my own patients.
My mind made up, I drafted the divorce papers, ready to send them as soon as I had all my documents in order.
But before I could make my move, a tidal wave of filth came crashing down on me.

6
The internet exploded with the news: beloved starlet Scarlett Vance's depression had worsened significantly.
The cause? A botched diagnosis from a "black-hearted" therapist. And that therapist, of course, was me.
I wasn't surprised. Overnight, I became the villain of a national witch hunt. Scarlett's fans descended like a pack of rabid dogs, tearing me to shreds online.
"What kind of quack clinic worsens a patient's condition?"
"BOYCOTT THIS PLACE! I'm posting this therapist's info everywhere, go see for yourselves!"
"And she's the CEO's wife? So she just bullies a regular person like our Scarlett? Despicable."
The comments were endless, each one more venomous than the last. Even for a seasoned therapist like me, the sheer volume of hatred was overwhelming. I told myself to hold on, to wait for the right moment to strike back.
The online firestorm brought Charlie home. But there was no concern in his eyes, no questions about my side of the story. Only pure, unadulterated rage.
"Clara, do you think having red eyes is going to fix this? Do you have any idea how much money you've lost the company?" he yelled.
"We're holding a press conference tomorrow. You will be there, and you will apologize to Scarlett."
"She said if you apologize, she'll let the whole thing go."
By now, my heart was numb. I no longer felt pain, only a cold, clear calm.
"How generous of her," I said, my voice flat. "But I have news for you, Charlie. Scarlett is faking it. And I am not apologizing for something I didn't do."
Charlie, who was pacing in front of the sofa, went rigid with fury. He swept a glass off the coffee table, and it shattered against the floor.
"The evidence is overwhelming, and you're still lying! Don't push your luck, Clara. The Tinkcom family will not tolerate a wife who brings shame to our name. One more stunt like this, and we're done. Divorce."
A shard of porcelain flew through the air, slicing into my calf. He froze, his eyes fixed on the trickle of blood. For a moment, he looked like he was about to rush over to me.
I clutched my leg and instinctively recoiled. I didn't want his touch.
Divorce. He had the gall to threaten me with divorce. This was it. This was my chance.
"I'll apologize," I said, my voice steady. "But on one condition."
The anger on his face was replaced by a flicker of triumphant relief. "Name it."
"Give me a divorce."

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