Three Days After My Husband Died, I Became the Other Woman

My husband, Chuck Helberg, died quietly in his study, a heartfelt suicide note beside him.

The letter began with My dearest Audrey.

My name is Scarlett Davies.

At seven in the morning, the alarm didnt ring.

I opened my eyes, a strange sense of unease settling over me. The space beside me was empty. On Chucks side, the duvet was neatly folded, the pillow squared precisely. This wasnt right; he never got up early enough to make the bed.

Chuck?

No reply.

I sat up. The bedroom was terribly silent. Curtains drawn, letting in only a thin slice of light. Thirty years in this old house, every crack and crevice was familiar, but today, that familiarity held a strange chill.

I got out of bed and pushed open the bedroom door.

The living room was also empty.

The kitchen was deserted, the bathroom door ajar, the light off inside.

Chuck Helberg?

My voice echoed through the living room, unanswered. A wave of panic rose within me. Not fear, but that pure intuition C something was wrong, terribly wrong.

Then I saw the study door.

It was slightly ajar, leaving a narrow gap.

Our study, Chuck called it his sanctuary. I rarely went in; it was his space. He said he needed to write, to think, to be alone. For thirty-three years of marriage, I respected this habit. Everyone needs their own space, dont they?

I walked to the door, my hand on the doorknob.

My heart lurched.

I smelled it. Faint, but definitely there. The unmistakable scent of gas.

Chuck!

I pushed the door open violently.

He sat in his desk chair, back to the door, head tilted slightly to one side. A natural posture, as if he were asleep. But on the desk, a small gas burner lay, its tube disconnected, the valve open. The windows were tightly shut.

My legs gave way, and I clutched the doorframe.

Chuck Chuck Helberg!

He didnt move.

I shuffled closer, my feet heavy as lead. Rounding the desk, I saw his face. Calm, too calm. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly purple, but his expression was relaxed, even hinting at relief?

My trembling hand reached for his breath.

Nothing.

His neck, cold.

His wrist, cold.

I collapsed to the floor, my head buzzing. Dead. Chuck Helberg was dead. He had taken his own life. In our study, with gas. While I slept in the next room, he came here, closed the door, and opened the valve.

Why?

I looked at him, this man with whom I had spent the greater part of my life. Sixty-two years old, his hair mostly gray but neatly combed. Today, he wore the gray sweater I had bought him last year, dark trousers. Dressed as if to meet a guest, not to commit suicide.

Then I saw something tucked in his arms.

A letter, in a plain white envelope, unsealed, a corner of the paper peeking out.

I pulled it out, my hands shaking uncontrollably.

The letter unfolded, revealing his familiar handwriting. Chucks penmanship had always been beautiful, strong and vigorous, upright like the man himself. But today, the words felt sharp, cutting.

My dearest Audrey

My name is Scarlett Davies. Who is Audrey?

I read on, word by word, each like an ice pick stabbing my heart.

My dearest Audrey, I have kept a lifelong promise, ensuring our child walks proudly in the world.

Now, our son is successful in his career, and our grandson is on the way. I have no more worries.

Life and death separate us, true love remains out of reach. I can finally escape this unhappy marriage.

Signed: Chuck Helberg. Date: Yesterday.

I stared at those lines, reading them again and again. I knew every word, but put together, I didnt understand.

My dearest Audreynot me.

True lovenot me.

The unhappy marriage that plagued himmine.

Thirty-three years. Thirty-three years of marriage. Our son, Nathan, was thirty-two. Last month, he called to say his wife was pregnant. Chuck had held the phone, his hand trembling, his voice choked. Good, good, Im going to be a grandfather.

I thought he was happy.

Now, looking at this letter, I understood. It was a mission accomplished. Keeping a lifelong promise, ensuring our child walks proudly in the world.

Our child.

Our son, Nathan, was his and Audreys child?

Then what about me? Scarlett Davies, in these thirty-three years of marriage, what was I?

I looked up at Chuck. He sat there, peaceful, calm, even somewhat dignified. Dead, but he had died where he belonged. The letter made it clear: no more worries, finally free.

I climbed to my feet, my legs still trembling. I went to the phone and dialed our sons number. It rang three times, then connected.

Mom? So early, is something wrong?

Nathans voice was thick with sleep. He was in New York City, two thousand miles away.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

Mom?

Your father I heard my own voice, dry and raspy, Your father is dead.

Silence on the other end. A long, deathly silence.

Mom, what did you say?

Your father, I said, enunciating each word, is dead. He killed himself. In the study.

Another silence. Then I heard a hurried breath. Im coming back immediately. Now, right now. Mom, did you call the police? The ambulance?

Yes. I hadnt, but I knew I should. Just come home quickly.

After hanging up, I truly called 911. Then I sat on the living room sofa, waiting. The letter was still clutched in my hand, the paper crumpled.

The police arrived, then the paramedics. Photos, questions, examination. I moved like a puppet, answering whatever was asked. Finally, Chucks body was carried away. A police officer approached, a middle-aged man with a gentle expression.

My condolences. The suicide note could we see it?

I handed him the letter. He read it, frowned, glanced at me, then at the letter, then back at me.

This

Its not me, I said. Audrey isnt me. My name is Scarlett Davies.

The officer nodded, saying no more. Perhaps he had seen stranger things. In the face of death, no absurdity was truly absurd.

They left, and the house was empty again. I sat on the sofa, looking at the open study door. That door, Chuck had closed it last night, ending his life inside. And I, in the next room, had slept through the entire night.

Blissfully unaware.

Our son arrived that evening. His flight was delayed; it was already eleven when he walked in. His face was tired, his eyes red.

Mom.

He hugged me, very tightly. It was then I realized I was trembling too.

What happened? How could Dad He released me, looking towards the study. What did the police say?

Suicide. Very clear. Theres a note. I walked to the coffee table and picked up the letter. See for yourself.

Nathan took the letter and opened it. I watched his face, trying to discern something there. Surprise? Confusion? Or something else?

He read slowly, his lips pressed tightly together. Then he looked up, his eyes full of bewilderment.

Who is Audrey?

Id like to know too, I said.

We looked at each other, mother and son for thirty years, suddenly like strangers. What was he thinking? What was I thinking? Neither of us knew.

Mom, his voice was raspy, this letter is Dad

Confused? I finished for him. Delirious? Made a mistake?

He nodded, then shook his head. But this handwriting, its Dads. I recognize it.

Yes, we both recognized it. The strokes, the strength, it was Chuck Helberg. He had written our names for over thirty years, on every birthday card, every holiday greeting. There was no mistaking it.

Did your father have any siblings? I asked. Cousins, anyone named Audrey?

Dad was an only child, you know that.

I knew. Chucks parents died young; he had no close relatives. When we married, he was alone. He didnt have many friends, just a few old colleagues he occasionally met. He never mentioned an Audrey.

Mom, Nathan sat down, wiping his face, Has Dad been acting strangely lately?

I thought back. Last week, he went to his hometown, he said to visit his parents graves. He was gone for three days, and seemed perfectly normal upon his return. The day before yesterday, we went to the mall together to look at cribs for our unborn grandson. He was quite happy, chatting with the sales clerk for a long time.

Yesterday, he woke early and made breakfast. Fried eggs, porridge, side dishes. Just like always. After eating, he said he was going to the study to write something. I said fine, then I went to the supermarket for groceries. When I came back, he was in the study, the door closed. I didnt disturb him.

In the evening, I made dinner and called him. He came out, ate, watched TV, then at around nine he said he was tired and went to bed. I said fine, Id watch this episode.

Everything was normal.

No, I said. Everything was normal.

Then this letter Nathan looked at the lines again. Ensuring our child walks proudly in the world C is this referring to me?

Who else? I looked at his face, a face that resembled mine by sixty percent. You are my son. I carried you for ten months.

But he said our child, Nathan pointed at the letter, his and this Audreys

You are not. I cut him off, my voice a little sharp. Nathan, you are my son. I gave birth to you. At City General Hospital, in the maternity ward, delivered by Dr. Lewis. Your father waited outside the delivery room all night. You weighed seven pounds eight ounces when you were born, and you cried very loudly. I remember all of this, clearly.

Nathan fell silent. He looked down at the letter for a long time.

Mom, he looked up, tears in his eyes, Then why did Dad write this?

I didnt know.

That night, neither of us slept. Nathan was in his old room, I was in the master bedroom. Chucks things were still there; his pajamas draped over the chair, his reading glasses and a half-read book on the nightstand. I picked up the book; it was One Hundred Years of Solitude. He had been reading it lately, saying he was old enough now to finally understand it.

I opened it, and a bookmark fell out. It was one Nathan had made in elementary school, a piece of cardboard with a wobbly drawing of a family of three. On the back, in Chucks handwriting: My son Nathan, aged eight.

My son.

My heart constricted.

The next day, funeral arrangements had to be made. Nathan went to take care of it, and I stayed home to tidy up. The police said the study was temporarily off-limits, pending procedures. So I tidied other areas.

Chuck didnt have many belongings. He was frugal; he had only a few clothes, but many books. I started with the wardrobe, taking out clothes one by one, folding them. In the bottom drawer, I felt a hard cover.

I pulled it out; it was an old photo album. A plastic cover, its edges worn white.

I opened it.

The first page held our wedding photo. Chuck and I, taken in 1988. I wore a red dress, he a white shirt. Both of us young, smiling shyly. Below the photo, handwritten: Scarlett and Chuck, New Wedding Memento.

I turned the pages. Nathans hundred-day celebration, his first birthday, starting kindergarten, elementary school graduation. Always the three of us. A standard family album.

I flipped to the last few pages, which were empty. But on one page, something was tucked inside.

I pulled it out: a small, black-and-white photo, its edges yellowed. It showed a young woman with two long braids, wearing a floral blouse, smiling sweetly. On the back, faded but still legible: Audrey, Spring 1975.

1975.

That was before I met Chuck. Where was he then? In his hometown, or had he already moved to the city? He never mentioned it.

I stared at the photo. Audrey. A very delicate-looking girl, with large eyes and dimples when she smiled. She looked to be in her early twenties, perhaps even younger.

Who was she?

I turned the photo over and over, finding no other information beyond that line of text. The photo itself was ordinary, like one taken at a photo studio, with a fake scenic backdrop.

Mom.

I gasped, almost dropping the photo. Nathan stood at the doorway, looking at what was in my hand.

Whats that?

I handed it to him. He took it, looked at the front, then flipped it over.

Audrey? He looked up at me. Is this

Found it in your fathers album, I said. Tucked in the back.

Nathan sat down, examining it closely. 1975 Dad would have been twenty-three that year. Working as a teacher in his hometown.

How do you know?

Dad mentioned it once, Nathan said. He went back to his village after high school, taught at the elementary school for two years, then passed the college entrance exam and left.

I hadnt known any of this. Chuck rarely spoke of his past. When asked, hed simply say, Nothing worth telling, its all in the past.

This Audrey, Nathan pointed at the photo, could she have been Dads

Sweetheart, I finished.

The room fell silent. Sweetheart. First love. Or, more than just first love.

But even if he had one, Nathan said, what does it have to do with this letter? My dearest Audrey C Dad wouldnt address just anyone like that. And he said our child

He looked at the photo, then at me, his eyes complex.

Mom, his voice was very soft, Should I get a DNA test?

I felt like Id been slapped; my face burned.

What did you say?

Its not that I dont believe you, he said quickly. But this letter this photo Dad must have had a reason for writing those words. If he thought I was his and this Audreys child, then maybe

You are not. I stood up, my voice trembling. Nathan, you are my son. I gave birth to you. You want a test? Fine, do it. But now, your fathers body is barely cold, and you want to do this?

He fell silent, lowering his head.

Im sorry, Mom, he murmured. Im confused. I just want to understand.

We both wanted to understand. But how? Ask Chuck? He was dead, unable to answer.

Lets take care of the funeral first, I said. Other matters, later.

Nathan nodded, returning the photo to me. I clutched the small paper, feeling as if it were burning hot.

The funeral was set for three days later. Simple, with few attendees. A few of Chucks old colleagues came, a few neighbors. At the ceremony, I stood at the very front, looking at his portrait. The photo was taken last year, in the park, he was wearing that gray sweater, smiling gently.

The officiant read the eulogy, describing Chuck Helberg as a diligent and upright man, a good husband, a good father. Listening, I felt like laughing. A good husband? His suicide note said he was unhappy in this marriage. A good father? Before his death, he was thinking of another womans child.

I clenched my hands, my nails digging into my palms.

After it ended, one of Nathans distant aunts came over and took my hand. Scarlett, my condolences. Chucks passing was so sudden; you must take care of yourself.

I nodded, unable to speak.

By the way, the aunt lowered her voice, did Chuck leave any instructions before he passed? He has an old house in his hometown, you know that, right?

I paused. An old house? Chucks hometown did have a house, but it had been neglected after his parents died. He said it wasnt worth anything and didnt bother with it.

Why bring that up suddenly?

I just heard, the aunts eyes darted around, a while ago, someone apparently went to see that house. They said Chuck sent them. I thought you knew.

I didnt know. Chuck hadnt told me.

Who went?

That, Im not sure about. The aunt patted my hand. Im just worrying needlessly. Dont overthink it, just take care of yourself first.

She left, and I stood there. The old house? Chuck sent someone to see the old house?

Mom, Nathan came over, Its time to go home.

On the way back, I kept thinking. The old house, Audrey, 1975. What could these fragments piece together?

Once home, I told Nathan: I want to go to your fathers hometown.

Now? But the funeral just

Now, I said. Ill take the high-speed train, round trip in one day. Are you coming?

Nathan looked at me, then nodded. Yes. Ill drive.

Chuck Helbergs hometown was in a neighboring state, a three-hour drive away. It was a small town; it had developed a bit over the years, but the old part of town remained much the same. Nathan, relying on his memory, found the old street.

The old house was at the end of the street, a small, single-story home with its own yard. The door was locked, the lock rusted solid. A neighbor, hearing the commotion, opened her door. It was an old woman, who squinted at us for a long time.

Who are you looking for?

Auntie, I said, This is Chuck Helbergs house; Im his wife. Weve come back to take a look.

The old woman uttered an Oh, scrutinizing me. Chucks family? He hasnt been back in years. A while ago, someone did come, said Chuck sent him, and went in with a key.

What kind of person?

A man, in his forties, I suppose, wearing glasses, very scholarly. The old woman thought for a moment. Said he was Chucks friend, came to see if the house needed repairs.

He went inside?

Yes, he stayed for about an hour. He even asked me a few questions, like who used to live here, and if anyone had ever inquired about the house.

What did you tell him?

What could I tell him? Chucks parents passed away so many years ago; the house has been empty. Though, before The old woman paused. Before, there was a woman who came, many years ago, asking about Chuck. I told her Chuck had moved to the city and was married, and she left.

My heart quickened a beat. What kind of woman?

That must have been thirty years ago, the old woman recalled. Very delicate-looking, dressed simply, spoke softly. Said she was Chucks old classmate, just passing by, thought shed check in.

What was her name?

She didnt say. I asked, she didnt say, just left. The old woman looked at me, then at Nathan. Are you Chucks family? How is he? Havent seen him in ages.

He My throat tightened. He passed away. A few days ago.

The old woman gasped, repeatedly saying What a pity. She added, Chuck was a good boy, just had a hard life. If it hadnt been for his familys troubles back then, he and his sweetheart

Sweetheart? Nathan pressed. Auntie, are you saying my father used to have a sweetheart?

The old woman, realizing her slip, waved her hand. Oh, thats ancient history, why bring it up? Hes gone now.

Auntie, I stepped forward, taking her hand. Please tell me, this is very important to me. Chuck left a letter mentioning someone named Audrey. Was it her?

The old woman looked at me, her gaze complex. After a moment, she sighed.

Audrey Yes, that was the girl. Audrey Sterling. She and Chuck grew up together, and they were very fond of each other. Later, Chucks family fell on hard times. His father passed away, his mother was ill, and the family was deep in debt. Audreys family thought Chuck was too poor and wouldnt agree to the marriage. They forced Audrey to marry someone from out of town. I heard she didnt have a good life; her husband abused her, and within a few years

Within a few years, what?

She was gone, the old woman whispered. They said she died of illness, but some said she was heartbroken and took something. Chuck was already at university by then. When he found out, he came back and sat by Audreys grave all day. After that, he never mentioned her again.

I released her hand, my body growing cold.

Audrey Sterling. Dead. She had died many years ago.

Then did she I heard my voice tremble. Did she have a child?

A child? The old woman thought for a moment. I think I heard she had one, but it was given away not long after it was born. The family Audrey married into didnt acknowledge it, saying she had been unfaithful, and the child wasnt theirs. What a tragedy.

Given away. A child.

I looked at Nathan. His face was ashen.

Auntie, his voice was dry, That child boy or girl? When was it born?

That, Im not sure about. Its all hearsay, a mix of truth and rumor, who knows. The old woman sighed. They were all tragic figures. Chuck later married you, and we all rejoiced when we heard you had a good life. He finally found some happiness.

Happiness? I managed a twisted smile, but no real smile came.

Auntie, I said, Can we go inside and look around?

The old woman went back inside for a hammer, then helped us smash open the rusted lock. The door opened, releasing a musty odor. The house was dim inside, furniture covered with cloths, a thick layer of dust on the floor.

Nathan and I walked in, using our phone flashlights. It was a small house, one living room, one bedroom, the kitchen in a corner. Chuck had grown up here until he was eighteen, then left for university, met me, married, had a child, and lived for thirty-three years.

Until three days ago, when he died.

I walked slowly through the living room, looking at the dust-covered objects. Old tables, old chairs, faded remnants of New Year prints on the wall. In the bedroom, a wooden bed, an old-fashioned wardrobe.

I pulled open the wardrobe door. It was empty, save for a few old clothes hanging inside. I reached in, and in the deepest part of the closet, I felt a small wooden box.

I pulled it out and opened it. Inside were some odds and ends: a few vintage pins, an old fountain pen, some old paper bills. And a letter, its envelope yellowed.

I pulled it out, my hand trembling fiercely.

It was Chuck Helbergs handwriting, but younger, less developed. The date was June 1975.

Audrey:

Greetings.

I received your letter. Knowing you are well, I am relieved. You said your parents have brought up that marriage again. Dont worry, when I return for summer break, I will talk to them. Though I, Chuck Helberg, am poor now, I am working hard. I will soon take the college entrance exam, get into university, secure a job, and then I can support you.

Audrey, believe in me. In this life, I want only you. If you marry another, I will remain unmarried my entire life.

Wait for me.

The letter was short, ending abruptly. No signature, but I knew it was him. June 1975, before he even took the college entrance exam, Audreys family was already pressuring her to marry.

I folded the letter and put it back. There was also a photo in the box, a picture of Chuck and Audrey together. They stood by a river, both young, smiling brightly. Chuck had his arm around Audreys shoulder; she leaned against him, holding a bouquet of wildflowers.

On the back of the photo, it read: With Audrey, Summer 1974.

A year later, Audrey married. Another year, she died.

I handed the photo to Nathan. He looked at it, silent for a long time.

So, his voice was very soft, this Audrey was Dads first love. She died. Left a child, who was given away. Dad thought that child was me.

Or, I looked at the young Chuck in the photo, he wished it was you.

Why?

Because you are his son, I said. But in his heart, he always held Audrey. So he treated you as Audreys child, so he could convince himself that his marriage, this lifetime, had meaning C that he raised his and Audreys child.

But I was born to you! Nathans voice rose. Mom, Im your son! How could he how could he do this to you?

I didnt answer. I walked to the window, pushed it open, and let the wind blow in. Dust danced in the light.

Your father, I said, lived a lifetime of heartache.

But does that excuse how he treated you? Nathan came to my side. Mom, he spent thirty-three years with you, and in the end, he left a letter saying his true love was someone else, saying this marriage was unhappy. What did he see you as?

I shook my head. I didnt know. I thought we were husband and wife, partners, family. But it turned out that in his heart, I was a shackles, an unhappiness, thirty years he had to endure.

Im going to find that child, Nathan suddenly said.

What?

Audreys child. If theyre still alive, they should be around my age. I want to find him and ask for clarity. Maybe Dad had contact with him all these years; maybe Dads suicide note was meant for him.

What if you find him?

I dont know. Nathan wiped his face. But I want to understand. Mom, dont you?

I did. I wanted to know what I had truly lived through for thirty-three years. My presumed home, my presumed marriage, my presumed lifelong companionshiphow much of it was real?

Find him, I said.

It was dark by the time we returned to the city. Nathan dropped me off at home, saying hed investigate and let me know if he found anything. I entered the house alone, turned on the lights, and looked at the empty rooms.

Every piece of furniture here, I chose. The paintings on the walls, he and I selected together. The kitchen tiles, I insisted on that color. Thirty-three years, this home, everywhere bore my mark.

Yet Chuck said he was unhappy.

I walked into the study. The police had lifted the seal; everything was still in its place. On the desk, One Hundred Years of Solitude lay open. I walked over and looked at the page. It was about Colonel Aureliano Buenda returning home after years of war, finding everything changed beyond recognition.

Chuck had underlined a sentence in pencil: He thought of his dead wife, of the life he had never truly possessed.

I traced the line with my finger. The life he had never truly possessed. Was he thinking of Audrey? Thinking of the what-if C what if Audrey hadnt died, what if he had been with her, what kind of life would that have been?

The phone rang. It was Nathan.

Mom, I found something, his voice was urgent. I asked a friend to check the civil registry system. Around 1976, a boy was sent to the county orphanage, his mother named Audrey Sterling. Records show the child was adopted three months later by a pair of teachers named Henderson.

What happened after that?

Thats where it cut off. Archives werent complete back then, only that much. But my friend said he could dig deeper, see if the Henderson couple ever moved, or if the childs name was changed.

How long will that take?

Hard to say, maybe a few days. He paused. Mom, I also asked Dads old colleagues. One, a Mr. Evans, said Dad indeed asked him for a favor a while ago.

What favor?

Dad asked him to help find someone named Ethan Henderson. Said he was an old friend, lost touch for years, wanted to reconnect.

Ethan Henderson. I hadnt heard that name before.

Did Mr. Evans find him?

Yes. Ethan Henderson is now in a neighboring city, runs a small bookstore. Dad got his address and phone number. Nathan said, Mom, do you think this Ethan Henderson could be the child Audreys family adopted?

I didnt know. But it was too much of a coincidence.

Do you have the address?

Yes. Mr. Evans gave it to me. Nathan said, Im going over tomorrow. Mom, are you coming?

I thought about it. Yes.

Okay, Ill pick you up tomorrow morning.

After hanging up, I sat in the study, looking at the chair Chuck used to sit in. He had sat right here, opened the gas, and written that letter. The letter said he had fulfilled his promise, ensuring our child walked proudly in the world.

If Nathan wasnt that child, then who was he talking about?

If Nathan was, then who was I?