My Wife's Husband

“Leo, do you really think you’re Catherine Croft’s legal husband?”

The man, Adrian, slammed the marriage certificate onto the podium just as the stage lights hit my eyes. I was in the middle of our new product launch.

The date on the official seal burned into my retinas…

Five years ago. I hadn't even met Catherine yet.

But I was her husband. Her legal husband.

I begged Catherine to tell the world the truth, but she always said to wait, just a little longer. For that, my son and I were dragged through hell—threatened, humiliated, and hurt.

When she finally did reveal the truth, she fell to her knees before me. “Leo, please, just let me explain…”

But by then, it was an explanation neither I nor my son needed anymore.

01.

I was in a tailored suit, standing on stage at the company’s new product launch, walking the audience through our latest innovation. This presentation was everything to our company. I’d poured my soul into it, polishing every detail until it gleamed.

Just as applause began to swell from the audience, a stranger stormed through the conference hall doors. He walked with an air of pure arrogance, heading straight for me.

“Leo Wallace, do you really think you’re Catherine Croft’s legal husband?” he sneered, his voice laced with provocation.

My brow furrowed. I had no idea who this man was, what this bizarre performance was about.

He seemed to relish my confusion. He pulled a marriage certificate from his briefcase and waved it in my face. “Maybe this will clear things up. I’m Catherine’s legal husband. We’ve been married for five years.”

I took the document. There, in stark black ink, were their names: Catherine Croft and Adrian Shaw. And the date.

A deafening buzz roared in my head, like I’d taken a physical blow.

How could this be possible? Catherine and I had been married for three years. Our life together was stable, happy. Why would she be married to someone else?

I forced myself to breathe, to think. I replayed every moment of our life together, searching for a crack, a lie, anything. But the Catherine in my memory was always so gentle, so attentive. She adored me and our son. I couldn't find a single reason for her to deceive me like this.

The man, Adrian, saw my stunned silence and a triumphant smirk spread across his face. “Did you really think the happiness you stole would last forever? Time to wake up.”

His words were a razor blade, slicing deep into my heart.

The audience below had sensed the shift. The quiet murmurs grew into a wave of curious stares.

I took a deep, steadying breath, fighting to keep my composure. “Who the hell are you? Why are you trying to frame my wife?” I stared at him, desperately searching for a flaw in his act.

He snorted. “My name is Adrian Shaw. I’m Catherine Croft’s husband. And I’m just giving you some friendly advice: stop pretending to be something you’re not. Stop being the other man.”

Just then, Catherine rushed into the hall. Her face went pale the moment she saw us.

She looked at Adrian, her voice low and dangerous. “What are you doing here? Why would you do this?”

Adrian just laughed and shoved the certificate into her hands. “I’m just telling him to be a decent person, to stop being a homewrecker. What’s wrong with that? Today, everyone is going to know the truth.”

He turned and walked out, leaving Catherine and me stranded in the ensuing chaos.

Reporters swarmed the stage, their cameras flashing relentlessly, their questions flying at us like bullets. The product launch was a disaster, derailed by a gossip bomb. My boss was furious, telling me I was suspended indefinitely. The only reason I wasn't fired on the spot was because of my track record.

But I didn't have the energy to care about my job. When we got home, the argument I’d been holding back exploded out of me. I screamed at her, demanding to know what was happening.

She just looked at me, her eyes pleading. “Leo, please, just wait for me. Now is not the time. I promise you, I will handle this. I will give you an explanation.”

I stared at her, my vision blurred by rage and disappointment. “Wait? After this? You let me become a public joke today! My marriage, my career—it’s all in flames because of you! Enough, Catherine. I want a divorce!”

“No!” Her face was a mask of panic, the word ripping out of her. “I won’t divorce you! I will never divorce you!”

02.

Catherine’s fingers dug into my wrist, her knuckles white from the force of her grip. “Noah is only three. Would you really sentence him to a broken home?”

I wrenched my arm away, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “A mother who lies is a thousand times more damaging than an absent one!”

Her eyes reddened, and she swallowed hard. “Just give me one more week… no, three days! I swear I’ll—”

My phone began to vibrate violently, a notification lighting up the screen. A trending topic, complete with a flaming emoji: Leo Wallace, the Corporate Homewrecker.

I clicked it. The press conference had been cut into a viciously edited meme. The shot of Adrian throwing the certificate on the stage looped endlessly, my face photoshopped onto a screaming chicken. The comments were a tidal wave of hate:

[Trying to launch a product while you’re the other man? Give this guy the Douchebag of the Year award!]
[UPDATE! People are flooding the website of that scumbag Leo’s company!]

“How much is your ‘swear’ worth right now?” I grabbed a vase from the entryway table and hurled it to the floor. “Where were you when my launch was being destroyed? Where were you when the entire internet started calling me a homewrecker? Don’t you dare stand there and pretend to be a concerned mother now!”

Shards of porcelain skittered across the floor, stopping at her feet. She took a half-step back, then suddenly grabbed her coat. “We both need to calm down.”

The front door slammed shut. A moment later, I heard Noah crying from his room.

I ran in and swept him into my arms. He clutched my shirt, sobbing. “Is… is Mommy not coming back?”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my own voice from breaking. “Mommy just got a little lost, buddy. Daddy’s going to find her for you.”

I called my lawyer and had him draw up divorce papers.

But then Catherine vanished.

Her phone went straight to her assistant’s voicemail every time.

“Ms. Croft is in a meeting with our international partners.”

“Ms. Croft is with investors right now.”

“Ms. Croft, she…”

I drove straight to the Croft Industries headquarters, my dress shoes clicking like blades against the marble floor. But when I reached the executive elevator, the iris scanner blinked red. Access Denied. My credentials had been revoked.

“Sir, please don’t make this difficult,” her assistant said, blocking my way. I saw a faint, finger-shaped bruise on her forearm—from when I’d grabbed at Catherine the other day and she’d stepped between us.

My eyes were glued to the floor numbers lighting up on the display. “Tell her I’ll be at City Hall tomorrow at ten a.m. If she’s not there, I’ll see her in court.”

As I turned to leave, I heard the assistant’s hushed voice behind me. “Ms. Croft, he’s gone… Yes, I’ve already spoken to the kindergarten, just as you asked…”

The moment the final bell rang, Noah launched himself into my arms like a little cannonball. His right eye was puffy and swollen, and a scab of dried blood crusted the corner of his mouth.

“Did you fall?” I asked, my fingers gently brushing the wound.

He burst into tears. “Stella said her mommy bought her an Iron Man watch… she said I was adopted…”

My blood ran cold. The day of the press conference, I’d gotten a friend request from Adrian Shaw. I’d meant to ignore it, but some morbid curiosity made me accept. His social media was a gallery of photos of him and a little girl, doted on by Catherine.

Stella. That was the name he used for his daughter.

“Where is she?”

Noah pointed toward the shadows behind the slide. A little girl in a private school uniform was trapping ants in a water bottle. The face of an Iron Man watch on her wrist caught the sun, flashing a blinding light. It was the same girl from Adrian’s photos.

And her eyes, her brow… they were a near-perfect copy of Catherine’s.

“Look, the fake daddy’s here!” she jeered, making a face at me. “My mommy is taking me to Disneyland tomorrow!”

I knelt down to her level. “What’s your mommy’s name?”

“Catherine Croft!” she announced proudly, puffing out her chest. “My daddy says her name is worth a hundred amusement parks!”

Before I could process that, Adrian emerged from behind a cluster of trees, followed by a crew of influencers holding selfie sticks. “Hey everyone, today we’re giving Stella a taste of a regular public school… Oh my god!”

He stumbled dramatically, his vintage watch catching on a branch. As the broken band flew into the grass, the viewer count on his livestream spiked to over one hundred thousand.

03.

The diamonds on the brooch pinned to Adrian’s chest blinded me—a Victorian-era iris, the very same one Catherine had pinned on me herself the night she proposed. I instinctively glanced at my own lapel, now bare. The key to our safety deposit box felt hot in my pocket.

“You stole my brooch!” I lunged for it, but a reporter’s microphone blocked my path.

Adrian clutched the diamonds and took a step back, the livestream camera zooming in on his feigned, trembling eyelashes. “Catherine gave this to me six months ago. Do you need to see the notarized document?”

An assistant promptly handed him a folder. On the aged paper, Catherine Croft’s signature was unmistakable, written with a powerful, confident hand. I knew that signature. The year before, during a major acquisition, she had guided my hand to sign our names together. The nib of the pen had torn the paper on the final stroke of her last name.

“Now who looks like the thief?” Adrian slapped the document against my chest.

The live chat exploded with red exclamation points:

[HE BROUGHT RECEIPTS! Leo the scumbag needs to get on his knees and apologize to the real husband!]
[No wonder he kept it in a safe, he knew it was stolen!]

I crumpled the paper in my fist, the sharp corners digging into my palm. “That signature…”

“Your wife signed it herself,” he whispered, his lips close to my ear. “In my bed, that night. Want to hear the details?”

I threw the crumpled document at his smiling face.

As the papers fluttered to the ground, Adrian staggered back dramatically, the brooch tumbling from his chest.

“Watch out!”

A man I recognized—Ethan—rushed out from the crowd of reporters and caught Adrian, steadying him. The ID badge on his chest swung forward: Adrian Shaw Productions, Special Assistant.

“Mr. Wallace, assault has legal consequences.”

As Ethan bent down to re-fasten the brooch for Adrian, I saw the scar on the back of his neck. I knew that scar. He got it working in a kitchen his sophomore year of college. I was the one who drove him to the ER for a skin graft that night.

“You didn’t talk about consequences when you were on your knees, begging me to help you pay for tuition, did you?” I grabbed the hem of Ethan’s designer suit. The silk fabric ripped with a sickening sound.

He flinched, and a tray of antiseptic wipes he was holding scattered across the ground.

“Answer me! When your father had late-stage liver cancer, who paid for the surgery?” I forced his face toward me. His skin was flushed crimson beneath his foundation. “Now you’re helping the man who stole my life. Does your conscience ever bother you at night?”

The cameras were practically touching my face. The live chat was in a frenzy:

[OMG THE DRAMA! The other man is having a meltdown!]
[Did you see that close-up? Adrian has a hickey from Catherine on his neck!]

Suddenly, Ethan grabbed my wrist, his nails digging into my flesh. “Leo, you have to move on.” His voice was a bare whisper, almost a sigh. “It’s like you taught me about investing in art… you pick the one with the highest potential for growth. It’s the same with people. You have to bet on the winner.”

Adrian’s smug laugh echoed from nearby. “Ethan, come fix my hair.”

Ethan immediately let go of me and hurried to Adrian’s side, dutifully smoothing his hair into place.

04.

The crowd surged forward, a suffocating wave of hot bodies and angry shouts. Noah’s terrified scream was lost in the noise.

“Get the bastard!”

A plastic water bottle hit me squarely on the brow. Cold water and blood streamed into my right eye. I held Noah tight against my chest. In the chaos, one of his small shoes was kicked off, revealing a little sunflower embroidered on his sock. He’d been so proud of them this morning. “Daddy buys the best socks!” he’d declared.

“I’ve already called the police!” I roared, wiping the blood from my eyes.

My only answer was a chorus of derisive laughter.

A large man in a gold chain grabbed a fistful of my hair. “The cops are coming for you, asshole!” His hand was adorned with a chunky diamond ring that scraped my earlobe, drawing a fresh line of blood.

The live chat was flooded with digital fireworks. [Someone start a crowdfund to add another diamond to that guy’s ring!]

My vision swam with black spots. My head was spinning. Only one thought remained clear.

I would make Catherine and Adrian pay for this.

The wail of sirens finally cut through the mob. My shirt was torn open.

“Everyone break it up!” a young officer yelled, using his baton to push back the phones still recording.

His older partner glanced at the bruises forming on my collarbone. “Sir, we recommend you handle domestic disputes through legal channels.”

I clutched Noah’s fallen sunflower sock, the taste of blood and iron in my throat. “I am her legal husband!”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say,” she replied, handing me a tissue. “My advice? Walk away now, before you drag your kid further into this mess.”

Suddenly, Noah grabbed my bleeding hand and pressed it against the officer’s sleeve insignia. “Mister, my daddy didn’t steal anything…”

The dark wool of the uniform soaked up the blood, creating a grotesque, blooming flower.

After we gave our statements at the station, I saw a long, deep scratch on the back of Noah’s hand, still weeping blood. Without a second thought, I rushed him to the hospital.

Under the harsh fluorescent lights of the emergency room, I sent Catherine a photo of Noah’s hand being stitched up.

When she finally answered with a video call, I could hear the sounds of Adrian’s livestream in the background. “—big thanks to ‘Catherine’s Knight’ for the huge donation!”

“You hear that?” I held the phone close to Noah’s tear-streaked face. “Your son is being called a bastard by the entire world!”

A vein pulsed in Catherine’s forehead. “Leo, Adrian and I are not married! Stella is not my child! The DNA report is in my study, third drawer—”

“And what good does that do now? Are you going to hold another press conference?”

“Just wait, please, now is not the right time…”

Noah suddenly sobbed out the word “Mommy.” Her fingers dug violently into what looked like a leather car seat. “Let me talk to him. Put Noah on the phone.”

I hit the end call button. I took her last voice message, still on my screen, and used my phone to blot the tears from my son’s cheek. “Catherine,” I thought, “you will never deserve to hear him cry again.”

05.

The day Noah got his stitches out, I finally saw Catherine again.

She burst into the examination room just as the doctor was snipping the last thread from the cut on Noah’s forehead. The scent of the perfume Adrian used on his livestreams clung to her blazer. She reached for our son, but I slapped her, my hand cracking across her face with such force that she stumbled back into an IV stand.

CRASH!

The sound of the shattering saline bag and the chorus of smartphone shutters created a surreal, horrifying symphony.

“Leo?!”

She wiped a trickle of blood from her nose. Behind her, frozen in the doorway, was Stella, holding an ice cream cone. Adrian had dressed her in a pair of sunflower socks identical to Noah’s.

I grabbed a medical chart and threw it at the influencer who had followed her in. “Get your reality show out of my face!”

Three hours later, a new headline was trending: Croft Industries CEO Assaulted by Homewrecker Ex.

My boss’s call shattered the silence of the ER waiting room. “Do you have any idea how big our contract with Croft Industries is? Write your resignation letter right now. It’s the only way you’re leaving this with a shred of dignity.”

The live chat on the replay of the hospital incident was ecstatic:

[That slap must have cost him ten million dollars, lol.]
[LATEST NEWS! That scumbag Leo’s company stock just plummeted!]

Back home, I was texting my lawyer about expediting the divorce when a notification popped up. Adrian’s new livestream was titled A Night of Protecting My Family.

He was holding Stella, his eyes red-rimmed. “Catherine was just at the hospital to see a sick child who had a fever, I never thought…” The camera panned over a pediatric hospital room, a bill signed by Catherine clearly visible on the nightstand.

My personal information had been compiled into a nine-panel graphic and was spreading like wildfire. My gym membership number, Noah’s list of allergies, even my childhood medical records were being passed around on the dark web.

The day a body bag was delivered to our doorstep, I was in the backyard burning every gift Catherine had ever given me. As the flames consumed a sapphire tie clip, a text came through from an unknown number. It was a GPS pin of Noah’s kindergarten. [Time to find a new playground for the bastard. A cemetery, maybe.]

Catherine’s calls, which I’d rejected dozens of times, turned into a flood of frantic texts.

I’ve hired security…
My lawyers are handling it…
Please, Leo, I’m begging you, answer the phone…

I aimed my phone’s camera at the flames and sent her my final ultimatum. Sign the divorce papers, or you’ll be getting a notice from the coroner.

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