The Wife Who Bought Your Life

A pristine, lace dress now hung in my closet.

It was a jarring, almost offensive presence among my simple, worn clothes. I ran a hand over the soft fabric, a smileone I hadn't realized was missingspreading across my face.

Getting all romantic with the surprise birthday gifts, are we? After all these years, Alistair?

I was giddy. I excitedly slipped it on.

I didnt even glance in the mirror before I heard the front door open.

I hurried out of the bedroom, laughing. "Honey, its a little snug, but I haven't taken the tag off! Can we exchange it for the next size up?"

But Alistair wasnt alone. His student was with him.

The young woman looked me up and down, a nasty little smirk twisting her mouth.

"Professor Wellss wife," she drawled. "Youre wearing my dress."

She burst into an ugly, high-pitched laugh. "How did you even manage to stuff yourself into that? Its hilarious. You look like a sausage about to burst its casing. Please tell me you havent stretched it out."

My face flushed crimson, the heat stinging my cheeks. I turned to Alistair, expecting him to deliver a sharp rebuke to her insolence.

Instead, he scanned me with a look of cold indifference, then spoke.

"Take it off, Cathy. Its pretty repulsive."

The words were a physical blow. I stared at him, my world silent as something immense and central within me collapsed into dust.

When he returned from walking the student out, I fixed him with a hard, unwavering gaze.

"Do you have anything to say to me?" I demanded.

Alistair rubbed his temples, his expression already weary. "Shes just a kid, Cathy. A little tactless, maybe. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?"

I gave a short, bitter laugh. "Professor Wells, youve missed the point."

"Im not angry at her. Im angry at you."

Standing in the entryway, with both of them staring at me, I felt more exposed than if I had been fully naked. The shame burned.

I bolted back into the bedroom, not stopping until I was behind the locked door.

This time, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Yes, the dress was a struggle. It strained across my middle, pulling tight over my belly.

But that strain wasn't just fat. It was the result of Polycystic Ovary Syndrome, a condition Id developed years ago.

When Alistair and I were kids, we both lived in Red Clay Creek, a smudge of a town we desperately wanted to escape. I only had my aging grandmother. He only had his mother, sick and struggling. The kind of tight bond that forms when two people are all the other has kept us close.

Alistair was brilliant. The only way out for a kid like him, the local teacher said, was a college scholarship.

I made sure he got it.

I left town and moved to Amesport, a brutal port city, to work. I needed to keep him in tuition, books, and food.

Amesport winters were vicious. To maximize my pay, Id rush to the freezing coastline before dawn, when the tide was out, to dig for clams. By afternoon, I was cleaning the hulls of cargo ships, the arctic wind tearing through my clothes. Year after year.

The constant exposure, the raw, chapped hands and the cold water, eventually destroyed my health. My doctor said my uterus was damaged, and the stress triggered the PCOS. I might never carry a child.

Alistair has clearly forgotten all of that.

He has played the role of the esteemed, morally immaculate Professor Wells for so long that hes forgotten his rough beginnings. Forgotten that it was his plain wife who sacrificed her body and her future to put him on this pedestal.

My chest tightened with an agonizing clench.

I quickly changed into my own clothes, then grabbed the crumpled lace dress and walked out.

Grace took it, held it up against her own slender frame, and pouted. "Do you think its stretched out?"

Alistair shot me a quick, chiding glance, then turned back to Grace. "Throw that one out. Ill replace it and get you something else."

Graces eyes lit up. She smiled at him, a dazzling, genuine smile. "Oh, thank you, Professor!"

Then she tossed the dress at me. "Here, Mrs. Wells. You keep it. Maybe if you lose some weight, you can finally wear it."

It landed on the hardwood floor. I didnt reach for it.

They turned and walked downstairs, Alistair saying hed see her off.

I moved slowly to the window.

Below, the girl was smiling brightly, waving at Alistair. His frame was straight and tall as he watched her go, and I saw the undisguised fondness in his eyes.

He hadnt looked at me like that in years.

A spreading bitterness filled my throat. I pressed my lips together. Thirty years with Alistair. In that moment, I knew it was finally, irreversibly over.

When Alistair returned, I was still sitting at the dining table, my head bowed.

He glanced at the clock, acting as if nothing had happened. "What are we having for dinner?"

I spoke flatly. "Do we need to eat?"

Alistair frowned. "Are you really taking up dieting now, like those silly college girls? Cathy, you know your body cant handle that."

I looked up, my eyes cold. "You know my body cant handle it, and yet you let her humiliate me?"

Alistair sighed, a sound of manufactured patience, and walked toward me. "Youre right, the dress didn't suit you. Do you want me to lie? Besides, Grace is just a young woman with no filter. Stop being so sensitive."

I watched him approach and offered a cold, brittle laugh. "Im not being sensitive about her."

"Im talking about you."

"Alistair Wells, how long have you been in love with your student?"

Alistair froze mid-step, his face instantly darkening with indignation.

"Cathy! It was a dress! A stupid, meaningless dress! Do you have to be so paranoid after all this time?"

He held his hands out, his voice rising. "We have thirty years of history. How could you possibly think Id just throw that away for someone else?"

I stood slowly, still staring into his angry eyes.

"Alistair, do you remember, so many years ago, the first white dress you ever bought me?"

That year, Alistair had finally made it to the city university and earned his first substantial check from a summer job. He used it to buy me a simple white summer dress.

My skin was tanned and rough from the fieldwork. When I wore it, the dress looked stark and odd, like a swatch of white cloth tossed over black dirt. I wanted to take it off, feeling ugly and exposed, but Alistair held my hand.

"Dont take it off, Cathy. You look beautiful in everything."

"Wait for me," hed whispered. "Just wait until I make something of myself, until Im a tall, strong oak. Then Ill give you back the country flower you are."

Today, Id believedfoolishlythat hed remembered that memory and bought me a white dress to mark the occasion.

Instead, hed forgotten completely.

And with one word"repulsive"he proved how fragile that memory was.

Sure enough, Alistair was frowning now, struggling to recall.

"Why drag up ancient history?" he muttered.

"If you want that dress so badly, Ill just take it back and exchange it for a bigger size."

He bent down, annoyance radiating off him, and picked up the lace dress.

But he didn't realize that in his rush back earlier, he had unconsciously stepped on it. The pure white lace now bore the smudge of a black footprint.

It was ruined. Unreturnable.

I watched the hand holding the stained garment. "Dont bother," I said, my voice low. "I wouldnt want to wear something that offends your eyes."

Alistairs control finally snapped. He exploded.

"Cathy, you are being utterly impossible!"

"You think Im cheating? Fine! Ill bring Grace here and let her explain everything right to your face!"

He strode toward the door.

Then his phone rang. He snatched it up, and as he listened, his face went alarmingly pale. He hung up and rushed out the door.

Less than an hour later, the door flew open. Alistair walked in, closely followed by Grace.

The girls eyes were red, and her cheeks still seemed to have streaks of tears. Alistair's mood was black.

My heart gave a little lurch. I briefly wondered if he had lashed out and made the girl cry. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe they weren't involved. Maybe his comment was just a bad joke.

Then, Grace stepped around Alistair and gave me a deep, theatrical bow.

"Mrs. Wells, I am so sorry. I was completely out of line earlier. I apologize."

She straightened up, her voice trembling slightly. "I just... I have a terrible filter. I say whatever comes to mind. Please, please don't hold it against me."

I watched this polished performance, remembering the version of myself that used to beg for cents just to get by. A pang of unexpected softness hit me.

I spoke slowly. "Its fine."

The girl immediately wiped away her tears and grabbed Alistair's arm, beaming. "Thats wonderful, Professor! Mrs. Wells forgave me!"

She lowered her voice, a sudden, conspiratorial note in it. "So, you can let me stay, right?"

Alistair looked at her approvingly and nodded. "Of course. Where else would you go? Youre staying here."

He turned to me, his expression hardening as he saw the rigidity in my posture. "Graces roommates were using a faulty appliance and it started a fire in their dorm. The girl is alone in Amesport, Cathy. We'll put her up for a few days."

So, the dramatic apology was just the prelude to this arrangement.

I stared at them in disbelief. "Alistair, you cant bring a female student to live in our home! You could get her a hotel room, or a temporary transfer to another dorm"

He cut me off with a sharp frown. "The university has no spare rooms. And besides, its not safe for a young woman alone in a hotel."

Grace, seeing my resistance, brought the tears back. "Mrs. Wells, are you still mad at me? Ill apologize again, okay?"

She started to bend at the waist. "I really am afraid to stay in a hotel by myself. Im scared"

Alistair stopped her. "This is my house. If I say you are staying, you are staying."

He turned back to me, his voice rough with impatience. "Stop being so petty, Cathy. She apologized. What more do you want?"

I stood rooted to the spot, reflecting on Alistairs earlier denials. His blatant favoritism was sickening. Could his feelings for her be any clearer?

A furious mixture of grief and indignation began to churn in my stomach. A reckless, brilliant plan suddenly took shape.

I looked at them both and didn't argue further, simply taking a step back.

Alistair led Grace inside, then clapped a condescending hand on my shoulder. "Good. Glad youre being reasonable. I was a little harsh earlier, too."

I kept my lips pressed shut, but Alistair took my silence as submission.

"Go tidy up the guest room," he ordered. "Grace is our guest. We cant neglect her."

I smoothed out my features, offering the placid, gentle look he was accustomed to seeing. "Of course. Ill go clean it up now."

That night, Grace slept in the room right next to ours.

The next morning, I woke up early.

I started doing the cleaning, my usual daily routine, scrubbing and mopping. I made sure to be loud.

The noise eventually roused Grace.

She emerged from the guest room, her face crumpled with irritation. "Auntie, why are you up so early cleaning? Its so noisy."

I froze, looking up from the mop.

Grace blinked the sleep from her eyes, saw my face, and immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh, my God! Im so sorry, Mrs. Wells! I was half-asleep and thought you were my cleaning lady."

She gave a nervous laugh. "But honestly, youre even more diligent than my maid. I should really tell her to step up her game."

I simply continued dragging the mop, ignoring her completely.

Grace gave a forced, weak smile and retreated back into her room.

She and Alistair eventually woke up around noon. Alistair was habitually an early riser; I wondered why hed slept so late today.

I didn't ask.

He spoke frankly enough. "Its nearly lunchtime. Did you get the groceries yet?"

I shook my head.

Alistair frowned, then picked up a shopping bag. "Ill come with you, then."

Grace, hearing this, immediately bounced out of her room, announcing she wanted to join.

I watched their easy familiarity, feeling a stab of pure irony. I just silently followed them out the door.

At the farmers market, Alistair picked up a tomato.

"Grace loves sweet-and-sour tomato scramble," he said. "We should get a few of these."

Passing the seafood stall, he pointed to the crabs. "Grace loves steamed crab. Grab a couple."

I looked at the crabs struggling in the tank, a cold smirk forming on my face. "Youre quite familiar with your students tastes."

Alistair stiffened, then rushed to explain. "I have a good memory. I picked up on it when we went out to dinner a few times. I remember all my students favorites."

I nodded slowly, then turned to him. "And do you remember what I like to eat?"

Alistair chuckled, relieved. "How could I forget! You love fish. Hey, owner, give me that big trout."

I immediately stopped him. "Don't bother."

"Alistair, I've hated the smell of seafood my entire life. It makes me sick."

Alistair stared at me, dumbfounded. "But... you always buy fish! You cook it all the time!"

I lowered my eyes, my voice laced with self-contempt. "I used to buy the near-dead fish for free when I worked on the docks."

"Later, I cooked it because you love it."

"Alistair, didn't you ever notice that I never once reached for a single piece of fish?"

Alistair fell silent, utterly stunned.

A short distance away, Grace was standing, clutching her nose. As we approached, still silent, she seemed oblivious to the thick tension.

"This market is so dirty and smelly," she complained. "Mrs. Wells, you come here every day? Youre so brave. How do you stand it?"

Alistair looked at Grace, his expression softening with sympathy. "I told you not to come. I said the environment here was unpleasant."

"Do you come here often, Professor?" Grace asked innocently.

Alistair never came. He hated that the market was dirty, and he was embarrassed when I haggled over a few cents.

Today, he was slumming itcoming here only to ensure Grace got her favorite ingredients.

He avoided Grace's question, awkwardly changing the subject.

As we left the market, we passed a small stall selling cheap clothing.

Grace pointed to a garish, black polyester floral dress. "Mrs. Wells, you like wearing dresses, right? This one really suits you."

She nudged Alistair. "Professor, don't you think?"

Alistair glanced at it and nodded. "Yes. It's very appropriate for her."

The vendor, seeing a potential sale, hurried over, smiling. "Buying for your mother figure?" she asked Alistair and Grace. "A nice gift for your long-time family elder?"

The "long-time elder."

It reminded me of the time I first met Alistairs college roommates. One of them had asked if I was Alistairs aunt. Alistair hadn't defended me that night. His face had just gone beet red with shame, and hed made an excuse to rush me home. After that, I rarely saw his friends.

Even now, Alistair couldnt acknowledge me as his wife.

The bitterness intensified. I heard the vendor continue her pitch.

"They're $99, buy one get one free. Great deal."

I clearly remembered the tag on the white lace dress: 0-0,999.

Alistair thought this cheap, ugly, clearance-rack polyester was what was appropriate for me.

My eyes hardened. I spoke flatly. "I dont like it."

I turned and walked away quickly.

Alistair rushed to catch up, bewildered. "What are you mad about now? I was trying to be nice and buy you a dress! What did I do wrong?"

I took a deep breath, quickening my pace. "Are you deaf? I said I. Dont. Like. It."

Grace caught up and tried to mediate. "Professor, dont argue with Mrs. Wells. Maybe its inconvenient to wear a dress while working? My cleaning lady never wears them at our house."

The word 'cleaning lady' was another sting, deep in my heart.

Alistair didn't deny it. He certainly didn't scold Grace. He simply agreed.

"Thats a good point."

My heart plummeted. In that instant, thirty years of shared history, even the last faint warmth, went ice-cold.

When we got home, I immediately went into the kitchen to cook.

Grace loved home made opened sandwich? I made it a simple cheese ham sandwich. She loved roasted ribs? I made them spicy and heavily roasted. Her favourite cabbage salad? I doused it in chili and vinegar.

When the dishes came out, Alistairs face was thunderous. "Cathy Wells, I told you what dishes to make!"

I ate my food calmly. "My apologies, Professor Wells. My memory isn't as sharp as yours."

It was a quiet meal. I was the only one who ate with any appetite. Alistair finished quickly, his face dark, and took Grace to the university.

I slowly cleaned the kitchen.

Then, I went to Alistairs study and found our marriage certificate. I took out a pen and paper and began to write a letter.

But I was interrupted by Alistair calling me.

"Im taking some students out to dinner tonight, and Im going to introduce you to them."

His voice was dripping with forced patience. "Cathy, Im doing this much. Can you please stop this childish sulking?"

He spoke as if he were bestowing a monumental gift upon me. Yet, for thirty years, it had been my sacrifices that gifted him this life.

I swallowed the bitter irony and agreed to the dinner.

That evening, I arrived at the restaurant as planned.

Just outside the private dining room, I heard Graces voice, sharp and distinct.

"Yes, Ive met Mrs. Wells. She wasn't what I expected. I thought shed be intellectual and elegant."

A cruel little laugh. "I was surprised. She's a bit heavy, you know? Definitely the solid, working-class type."

The group erupted in laughter.

"What an awful way to describe her, Grace! Aren't you afraid of getting scolded?"

Grace scoffed, her voice smug. "The Professor would never scold me. I'm his favorite student."

Alistair, as expected, only chuckled softly, saying nothing.

Suddenly, Grace's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Professor, you and Mrs. Wells don't have kids, do you? And she has that big belly... do you think she might be pregnant?"

Alistair paused, then laughed lightly. "Dont be ridiculous. Shes just heavy."

The table dissolved into fresh, low laughter.

I stood in the doorway, watching the scene unfold, my expression cold.

I pulled out my phone. Without a moments hesitation, I posted the fully edited message to the universitys private forum.

I watched for the "Post Successful" notification, then, poker-faced, walked into the dining room.

The students saw me. Their faces registered shock, curiosity, and disbeliefand yes, distaste.

I ignored it all and walked straight to the seat beside Alistair.

The group quickly masked their surprise, forcing on polite expressions as they greeted me. I met their eyes, one by one, acknowledging them calmly. Alistair, too, instantly reverted to his role as the doting husband.

The dinner began, filled with forced cheer and chatter. Only I remained silent.

Suddenly, one of the students gasped in surprise.

"Professor! Theres a viral post about you on the school forum!"

Alistair immediately snatched the phone. As he read, his face went from pale to sickly gray. He looked up at me, his eyes blazing.

"Cathy, are you insane?!"