The Day He Brought the Other Woman Home

The Day He Brought the Other Woman Home

Rabbit

5.0
Comment(s)
1.1K
View
30
Chapters

On my birthday, my husband of five years, Gifford Stanton, brought another woman into our home. Her name was Jovita, and he claimed we owed her a debt of honor. He didn't ask my permission; he informed me she would be staying with us. It was a decision, not a discussion. In the days that followed, he systematically dismantled our life. He sided with her in every disagreement, publicly shaming me for my "insecurity" and "lack of grace." He celebrated her, paraded her in front of his family, and made me an outsider in my own home. The final betrayal came late one night. He crawled into our bed, drunk, and whispered another woman's name in my ear as he touched me. Chloe. The next morning, after I confronted him, Jovita rushed to his side, accusing me of being hysterical and violent. He believed her. He looked at me with a disgust that hollowed me out. "Pack your bags," he snarled. "You can come back when you're ready to behave like a rational adult." He ordered me to play the part of the smiling, perfect wife at his annual charity gala in one month, after which he would "reconsider our marriage." I agreed to go to his gala. I would smile. And I would burn his entire world to the ground.

Chapter 1 No.1

The day Adriana Cotton's five-year marriage ended, it began with the scent of lilies.

They were her favorite. A large bouquet sat on the grand mahogany table in the foyer, a birthday gift from her husband, Gifford.

He always remembered.

For five years, Gifford Stanton had been the architect of his perfect wife. He'd sculpted her from the raw material of Adriana Cotton, sanding down her sharp edges, muting her vibrant colors, until she became the poised, quiet, elegant Mrs. Stanton. A woman who hosted flawless dinner parties and whose placid existence was a testament to the Stanton family's legendary discipline.

She had become a stranger to herself to be the woman he required.

A car door slammed outside.

Gifford was home, earlier than expected.

Adriana smoothed the front of her silk dress. She walked to the foyer, the gentle, practiced smile she wore like a uniform already in place. Ready to be the perfect wife on her birthday.

The front door opened.

Gifford stood there, tall and impeccable in his tailored suit. But he was not alone.

A young woman lingered just behind him, looking pale and out of place in a simple cotton dress that seemed to shrink in the opulent entryway. She clutched the strap of a worn canvas bag, her eyes wide and nervous.

"Adriana," Gifford said. His tone was not celebratory. It was flat. An announcement. "This is Jovita Griffith."

Adriana's smile felt stiff on her lips. She did not know the name.

"Jovita's mother was the woman who saved my grandmother's life years ago," Gifford continued, his gaze fixed on Adriana, a silent command in his eyes. "Jovita has just returned from her studies abroad and has nowhere to go. She'll be staying with us."

He did not ask. He informed.

The air in the foyer grew thick. The sweet scent of the lilies suddenly felt suffocating.

Adriana looked at the girl, Jovita. She saw the flicker of something in the girl's eyes. It was not nervousness. It was calculation.

"Welcome to our home," Adriana said. Her voice was steady, exactly as Gifford would expect.

Later that night, there was no birthday dinner. No celebration.

Gifford was cloistered in his study with Jovita, the low murmur of their voices drifting into the hall. He was discussing the trust fund he'd set up for her education, his tone patient and kind. Hers was soft and grateful.

Adriana sat alone in the cavernous living room, the space feeling colder and more empty than ever before.

She remembered Gifford's proposal. He hadn't spoken of love. He had spoken of legacy, of partnership, of the standards the Stanton name required. He had told her she was the only woman he'd met who had the grace to be his wife. A promise of a shared, orderly world.

That promise now felt like a cage.

She went upstairs, her steps silent on the plush runner. She had to say something. This wasn't right. Not on her birthday. Not in their home.

She stopped at his study door. It was slightly ajar.

"You've been so kind to me, Gifford," Jovita was saying. "I don't know how I can ever repay you. My mother always said your family were saints."

"It's our duty," Gifford replied. "We don't forget our debts."

Adriana felt a chill. She pushed the door open.

They both looked up. Gifford's expression hardened.

"Adriana. We're busy."

"Gifford, may I speak with you for a moment? In private."

Gifford glanced at Jovita, who lowered her head, looking vulnerable. "Jovita is practically family. You can speak freely."

The dismissal was sharp. It was a public alignment. Him and Jovita. Against her.

"I don't think it's appropriate for her to stay here," Adriana said, her voice low but clear. "In our home. We can arrange a hotel for her, a nice apartment."

Gifford stood up. His face was a mask of cold disappointment.

"I expected more from you, Adriana. More grace. More understanding. This family, our family, pays its debts. Her mother saved my grandmother. We owe her this. Are you so insecure that you can't tolerate an act of charity?"

The words hit her, each one a carefully chosen weapon. He was questioning her character, her suitability as his wife. He was shaming her.

She looked at him, at the man she had tried so hard to please for five years. She saw the judgment in his eyes. He wasn't just defending Jovita. He was protecting an idea of himself as a benevolent, honorable man.

And she was an obstacle to that idea.

"It's my fault," Jovita whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "I should go. I'm causing trouble between you and Mrs. Stanton."

She made a small movement toward the door.

"You'll do no such thing," Gifford said, his voice softening as he looked at her. He turned back to Adriana, his tone hardening again. "The decision is made. Jovita is staying. As the lady of this house, you will make her feel welcome. That is your duty."

He had used that word again. Duty. Not love. Not respect.

Adriana stood frozen for a moment. She looked from her husband's cold face to the girl's tear-streaked, triumphant one.

She nodded. A single, sharp movement of her head.

"I understand," she said.

She turned and walked out, closing the door quietly behind her.

She went to their bedroom and found her phone, her fingers scrolling to a name she hadn't called in over five years.

She typed a message.

Alexzander. Are you in New York?

She stared at the words, her thumb hovering over the send button. It was a betrayal of the life she had built. An admission of failure.

She deleted the message.

Instead, she walked to her closet and pulled out a small, locked box from the very back. Inside lay a leather-bound book.

The Stanton Family: A Guide to Conduct and Legacy.

Gifford had given it to her when they were engaged. Her bible for a new life.

She had memorized every page.

Now, the embossed letters seemed to mock her.

She held the book in her hands. It felt heavy. It felt like a stone.

She knew then. This wasn't a crack in her marriage. It was the beginning of an earthquake. And she was standing at the epicenter.

Continue Reading

Other books by Rabbit

More

You'll also like

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book