Listing My Living Husband As Dead

My husband had just returned from a business trip to a high-risk tropical disease zone in South America and was required to undergo a mandatory seven-day isolation.

I spent the night packing his fresh clothes and drove them over to his designated quarantine hotel.

The receptionist checked the registration list three times, then looked up at me. "I'm sorry, ma'am. There's no Dave Foster on our list. He never checked in for quarantine."

I froze, my finger hovering over his contact name to call him

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a black Porsche pull up outside the luxury boutique hotel directly across the street.

Dave stepped out of the driver's seat, walked around to the passenger side, and helped a young woman out. He immediately leaned down and kissed her.

She laughed, feebly pushing his chest, but he only pulled her tighter, deepening the kiss.

That girl was Amber. The rose Dave had raised himself. The girl he had personally sent across the ocean three years ago, swearing he would never see her again.

I stood frozen on the sidewalk, my hands and feet turning to ice.

My phone buzzed in my hand. It was a text from Davea photo of a pristine, king-sized hotel bed. The caption read:

Waiting to come home to you, baby.

Home?

What home did we even have left?

1.

I crossed the street and walked into the lobby of that boutique hotel.

It was empty.

I approached the front desk and asked the clerk, "The couple who just walked inwhich room are they in?"

The young woman behind the desk gave me a guarded look. "I'm sorry, ma'am. We can't disclose guest information."

I didn't push. I walked over to the lounge area, sat down, and texted Daves assistant, Ryan.

Is Dave back in the country? Did he skip the quarantine protocol?

The reply came almost instantly.

Hey Nicola, Dave didn't go abroad this time. He's been in town all week.

My chest tightened, a sharp burn rising to my eyes.

I just saw him with Amber.

The three dots appeared, disappeared, and then a wall of text popped up.

Nicola, I'm so sorry. I've been holding this in for three years. Every time Dave went on those "international business trips," he was flying out to see Amber.

She flew back to the States a week ago. He's been with her ever since.

He made up the whole mandatory tropical disease quarantine story just to buy himself seven uninterrupted days with her...

My fingers shook so violently I could barely hold the phone.

So that was the truth. Every single month for the last three years, those non-negotiable business trips were nothing but transatlantic flights to hold Amber in his arms.

Nicola, I'm so incredibly sorry. You two seemed so happy, I kept hoping he'd eventually grow up and let her go.

Let her go.

I stared at the screen, my mind flashing back to three years ago. Dave waking up in the hospital bed, his wrist wrapped in heavy gauze, his eyes bloodshot as he gripped my hand:

"Nicola, she means nothing to me. I'll send her away. I'll never see her again. Just please, believe me."

I locked my phone. The quiet lobby felt deafening, the silence punctuated only by the slow, shattering crack of my own heart.

The elevator doors slid open.

Dave emerged, his arm draped snugly around Ambers waist as they walked toward the lobby's sundries shop.

I instinctively pulled the brim of my baseball cap lower and adjusted my face mask.

Amber pouted, tapping a playful fist against his chest. "This is your fault for being so impatient. We were completely undressed before you realized we were out of protection. I told you it was fine, but you insisted on coming down to buy some."

Dave let out a low chuckle, pulling her tighter against him and kissing the crown of her head. His voice was thick, husky, but laced with fierce protection.

"Absolutely not. Im not risking you getting pregnant. You are not going through that kind of pain."

I stood frozen, paralyzed by a sudden, jarring memory.

Our first time, three years ago. We weren't married yet, lying in the dark of his apartment.

I had pressed my hands against his chest, terrified. "No, wait. We don't have anything. What if I get pregnant?"

His breath had been hot, his eyes bright in the dim light. He had kissed me, murmuring against my lips: "Then we'll have a baby. What's there to fear? I'll marry you. I'll take care of you forever."

Back then, "we'll have a baby" was a reckless compromise. Today, "I'm not risking it" was true, tender devotion.

Amber giggled, tracing lazy circles on his chest. "Doesn't your wife miss you? She's not calling to check on you during your 'quarantine'?"

Dave scoffed, a tone of smug indifference in his voice. "She believes whatever I tell her. Right now, she's probably counting down the days until my isolation ends."

Amber looked up at him, her eyes bright with admiration and triumph. "You're terrible, Davie. You have her wrapped around your finger."

Dave stopped, gently pinching Amber's chin. "Let her run circles. I'm never sending you away again." He leaned down, resting his forehead against hers. "These past three years... I've had enough of the distance."

I stood there like a statue. Behind my mask, hot tears streamed down my face, soaking the fabric.

They grabbed their items and walked back, passing right beside me. The sweet, cloying scent of her perfume drifted past. Daves arm remained locked around her waist as they stepped back into the elevator. The doors slid shut.

Slowly, my knees gave out. I sank to the floor, burying my face in my lap.

My phone screen lit up. A new text from Dave:

The hotel Wi-Fi is terrible here. I'll call you later. Go to bed early. Love you.

I stared at the words, and a dry, hollow laugh escaped my throat. A warm tear splattered onto the glass, blurring the lying word love.

2.

By the time I got back to the apartment, it was past midnight.

I sat on the living room sofa, staring at our massive wedding portrait on the wall. Dave was holding me, his eyes crinkling with a brilliant, joyful smile.

The photographer had gushed, "The way the groom looks at his bride is just pure magic."

I stood up and walked into the bedroom. I began tearing through the drawers, searching for our marriage certificate. I wanted a divorce. Now.

Instead of the certificate, my hand brushed against a velvet box hidden deep in the back of the closet. Prompted by some morbid curiosity, I pulled it out and opened it.

Inside was a thick stack of photographs. Every single one was of Amber.

She was seventeen or eighteen in the top ones, wearing a simple white sundress, looking back over her shoulder and laughing in the sunlight, her eyes bright and untamed.

On the back of one, Daves sharp, confident handwriting read: My little rose. Fifteen.

The next was Amber at twenty, standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss to Daves cheek. Dave was looking directly at the camera, his expression soft with a profound, indulgent tenderness I had never seen on him before. Picture after picture, documenting her journey from a girl to a woman.

At the very bottom of the box lay a folded piece of a bedsheet. On it was a dark, dried rust-colored stain.

I stared at the spot, my mind going completely blank as a sickening realization washed over me. It didnt take a genius to know what it was.

The memory of that night three years ago surged back with terrifying clarity.

When Dave and I were first dating, he introduced me to Amber, calling her his warda girl hed taken in at fifteen and raised like a daughter until she was twenty-two. Amber had been perfectly polite, smiling sweetly and calling me "Nicola." But her eyes never left him. They clung to him with an intensity that made my skin crawl.

A few months later, I received a video call from her. I answered, only to see a rumpled bed. Dave was lying there, eyes closed, his face flushed. Amber's voice drifted through the speaker: "Take a good look, Nicola." Then, she climbed into the frame, her fingers slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

I had driven there like a madwoman. By the time I kicked the hotel door open, it was over. Amber was wrapped in the sheets, her bare shoulders marked with fresh red scratches. She tilted her head and smiled at me with an innocent, vicious malice.

"You're late, Nicola. Dave was... incredible."

When Dave finally woke up and saw me standing amid the wreckage, his face drained of color. He rambled incoherently, sobbing that she had drugged him, that he didn't remember a thing. I demanded a breakup on the spot, cold and uncompromising.

He fell to his knees, begging through tears, but I refused to listen. In a desperate panic, he ran out of the building and straight into oncoming traffic. The screech of tires was deafening. He ended up thrown several yards away, blood pooling around his broken body. Three fractured ribs.

In the ICU, barely breathing, he grasped my hand. "Nicola... don't leave... I can't live without you..." He promised he would send Amber away, exile her to a university across the globe, and never speak to her again.

My heart softened. I forgave him.

"Ugh..."

A sudden wave of nausea hit me. I bolted to the bathroom, clutching the toilet bowl, dry-heaving until my throat burned with stomach acid. Tears streamed down my face. I felt dirty. Visceral disgust clawed at my insides.

I grabbed my phone, found Daves number, and dialed.

"Hello?" a soft, breathless voice answered, heavy with post-coital satisfaction. It was Amber.

In the background, a man's low, impatient voice grumbled, "Who is it?"

Amber giggled, her voice dripping with sweet affection. "I don't know, just some spam caller... Mm, stop it, Davie, be gentle..."

The call cut out.

I stood there holding the silent phone, my body shaking uncontrollably. Large, heavy tears splashed onto the screen. I slid down the cold tile wall and curled into a tight ball, holding myself, but I couldn't find a single ounce of warmth.

3.

I spent the next few days packing my things in a numb haze. I didn't know what day it was, nor did I care what I was eating.

Dave's texts kept coming.

Almost done with quarantine. I miss you so much.

Bringing home a surprise for you.

Just hang in there for two more days, baby.

I didn't reply to a single one.

He didn't suspect a thing. To him, I was the naive, trusting wife who believed every lie he spun.

On the fifth day, I went downstairs to take out the trash. As I reached the bin, my vision suddenly went black.

When I opened my eyes, I was lying in a hospital bed under harsh fluorescent lights, surrounded by the sharp scent of antiseptic. A nurse was writing on a clipboard nearby. She looked up. "You're awake. Your blood sugar crashed and you fainted on the sidewalk. A passerby called 911."

I nodded weakly, trying to sit up.

She patted my arm gently. "Lie back down. You're pregnant, about five weeks along. The baby is holding on strong, but you need to rest and focus on your nutrition."

I froze, my hand instinctively dropping to my flat stomach.

A baby? Now?

Just as I had resolved to divorce him, just as I discovered three years of systemic betrayal, when my soul was entirely hollow?

The nurse stepped out. I stared at the ceiling, my thoughts racing. What was I supposed to do with this child? I was still getting a divorce. The baby would be mine and mine alone.

As I struggled to process the news, a sudden commotion erupted just outside my curtained partition. Urgently rushing footsteps neared.

"Doctor! Doctor, please, you have to look at her!"

My entire body went rigid. It was Daves voice.

A gurney was wheeled into the neighboring bay. A woman's whimpering voice followed. "It hurts... Davie, it hurts so bad..."

"Don't worry, Amber. I'm right here. The doctor is coming." I had never heard Dave sound so frantic, so consumed with worry.

I instinctively pulled my privacy curtain tighter, making sure there was no gap.

"What's the emergency?" the doctor asked.

Dave hesitated, his voice dropping. "Doctor, she... she has an object stuck. It won't come out."

"What kind of object?"

"...A ring."

A heavy silence hung in the air for a few seconds. When the doctor spoke, his tone was icy. "A wedding ring?"

"...Yes."

The doctor let out a sharp, frustrated sigh. "This is absurd. Absolutely ridiculous."

Rustling sounds drifted through the thin fabric. Amber whimpered, "It hurts... this is all your fault..."

Dave coaxed her gently, "I know, I know. My fault. Just hang on, it'll be over in a second."

I lay there, paralyzed.

That wedding bandI had spent three months designing it and another three months supervising its production. The day Dave slipped it on, he had stared at his hand for hours and whispered, "I'm wearing this for the rest of my life. I'd lose my own hand before I lose this ring."

Now, it was lodged inside another woman.

About fifteen minutes later, I heard the doctor sigh with relief. "All right, it's out. You young people need to learn some boundaries."

"Yes, yes, thank you, Doctor. We'll be careful," Dave apologized repeatedly.

The medical staff's footsteps receded. Then, a sharp clink echoed as something metallic was tossed into a stainless-steel trash bin.

"You don't want the ring?" Dave asked.

"It's dirty," Amber muttered. "Why would I want to keep it?"

Dave paused for a beat. "Alright. Forget it then."

I closed my eyes. Three months of design. Three months of waiting. The ring he swore to wear forever. Tossed out like garbage.

Amber murmured, "How are you going to explain this to your wife?"

Dave let out a soft shrug of a laugh. "Explain what? It's just a piece of metal. I'll buy a replacement later." He paused, his voice softening into a teasing tone. "Actually, I'll buy you one, too."

The space next door fell silent for a moment before Amber giggled. "You're terrible."

I stared at the ceiling, tears slipping silently from my eyes into my hair. Reaching down, I slowly pulled the wedding band off my left ring finger, leaving a pale, empty band of skin behind.

I unlocked my phone, opened Facebook Marketplace, took a quick photo, and uploaded it.

Title: Wedding Ring - Selling Cheap.

Description: Ex-husband is dead to me. Selling the women's band. The men's band has already been thrown in the trash.

Post.

Outside my curtain, the footsteps faded away. Dave had escorted Amber out.

I placed both hands over my stomach.

Hang on, little one. Mama is taking you away from here.

4.

The day I was discharged was the day Daves supposed quarantine ended. At eight in the morning, his text came through:

Coming home today, baby. Wait for me.

I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the text box. I typed, deleted, and typed again. Finally, I sent a brief reply:

I'm pregnant. We need to talk.

I sat on the living room sofa and waited. Dave didn't reply.

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang. I stood up and opened the door. It wasn't Dave. It was Amber.

"Long time no see, Nicola. Aren't you going to invite me in?" Her voice was still sweet, but her eyes were venomous as she scanned me up and down.

"What do you want?" I blocked the doorway.

She smirked and pushed past me, brushing my shoulder as she walked into the living room. She sat on the sofa like she owned the place.

"Oh, don't be like that. You look pale, Nicola. Then again, who could sleep after discovering such filthy secrets? Oh, by the wayDaves assistant, Ryan? He's on my payroll. How else do you think you found out the truth so easily?"

I shut the door and stared at her coldly. "Get to the point. Why are you here?"

Amber twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. "Just wanted to chat. Oh, and that text you sent him? I saw it while he was in the shower. I went ahead and deleted it for you." She looked up, her smile sweet and malicious. "No need to thank me. It's not like he cares about your pregnancy anyway."

My stomach dropped. I clenched my fists. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Amber stood up and stepped closer. She was shorter than me, but she looked down on me as if I were nothing.

"I'm here to tell you to get an abortion. His world revolves around me now. If you have this baby, it'll distract him. I won't let that happen."

I took a step back. "This is between me and Dave. It has nothing to do with you."

Amber let out a sharp laugh. "You poor, naive thing." She leaned in, whispering in my ear.

"There's something I never told you about that night three years ago. I didn't drug him. I took something myself to get in the mood. I told him that if he didn't help me, I'd go find some random guy on the street, or maybe one of his business rivals. He got so angryhe grabbed me by the neck and asked if I was threatening him. And then... he helped me 'cure' my fever."

She stepped back, admiring the way the color drained from my face, her smile widening.

My mind shattered. Three years of trust, three years of soft-hearted forgiveness, crumbled to dust in a single second. I was the fool. The entire marriage was an elaborate joke.

I could hear my teeth chattering as I spoke. "Get out. Get out of my house!"

Instead of leaving, Amber took another aggressive step forward, her eyes locking onto my stomach. "Dave is mine. You and your little parasite are just a distraction. You don't deserve to carry his child. Get rid of it yourself, or do I need to do it for you?"

I completely lost my mind. I lunged forward, shoving her away. "Get away from me! Get out!"

She stumbled back, but recovered instantly. With a sudden, vicious surge of force, she lunged forward and shoved me back.

I lost my balance entirely, falling backward. The small of my back slammed hard against the sharp corner of the coffee table.

A white-hot, agonizing pain flared through my abdomen. I looked down. Blood was already blooming through my pants, trickling down my legs.

Ambers lips twitched into a cold smirk. She turned on her heel, opened the front door, and vanished into the hallway.

I dragged myself across the floor, reaching for the phone that had fallen nearby. With trembling fingers, I dialed 911, but my finger slipped and hit Dave's contact photo instead.

The line rang. Just as my consciousness began to slip, his voice broke through, cheerful and warm. "Hey baby, I'm almost home. Did you miss me?"

I forced the words out. "Dave... I was pregnant."

A brief pause on the line. Then, pure ecstasy. "Really?! Oh my god, Nicola, I'll be right"

"Don't bother," I whispered, my voice flat and hollow. "The baby is gone. Amber pushed me."

Silence fell over the line. I took a shallow breath. "I want a divorce."