Doomed
1682 Words
Seraphina
I’ve been home for two days, and the cabin already feels like a dream.
A perfect, impossible dream that ended the moment Dominic dropped me off three blocks from the house so Elena wouldn’t see us arrive together. Back to sneaking. Back to lying. Back to being the sister instead of the wife.
I’m making coffee when I hear voices in the living room. Elena must have a visitor. Probably one of her friends from the support group, or maybe her doctor making a house call.
But when I walk into the living room with my mug, the woman sitting on our sofa isn’t anyone I recognize.
Except I do recognize her.
My heart stops.
It’s Chloe.
She stands when she sees me, her face breaking into a warm, professional smile. “Mrs. Ashcroft! Good to see you again.”
The words hit me like ice water. The coffee mug nearly slips from my hands.
No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.
“I’m so glad I caught you at home,” Chloe continues, completely oblivious to the panic screaming through my veins. “I hope I’m not intruding—”
“Oh, you’re speaking with the wrong person.”
Elena’s voice comes from the doorway behind me, light and amused, and I feel the ground tilt beneath my feet.
She moves past me into the living room, and I watch in frozen horror as she extends her hand to Chloe.
“That’s my kid sister, Seraphina,” Elena says with a gentle laugh. “I’m Mrs. Ashcroft. Elena Ashcroft.”
Chloe’s face goes through a remarkable transformation—confusion, shock, embarrassment, and then something else. Something that looks like understanding. Her eyes flick between Elena and me, and I can practically see the pieces falling into place in her mind.
The cabin. The romantic setup. The woman she assumed was Dominic’s wife.
Who was actually his wife’s sister. She knew then I was Dominic’s mistress. His wife's sister. A shameless w***e who is stabbing her sister in the back.
“Oh my goodness.” Chloe’s professional composure cracks slightly. “I’m so sorry. I just assumed—you look so much alike, and I—” She stops, clearly flustered. “Please forgive me, Mrs. Ashcroft. That was terribly presumptuous of me.”
“It’s fine, really.” Elena waves it off with easy grace. “It happens all the time. We do look similar. And please, call me Elena.” She settles into the armchair across from Chloe. “Adrian told me he was sending someone over with some documents. I assume that’s you?”
“Yes.” Chloe recovers quickly, smoothing back into professional mode. “I’m Chloe Chen, Mr. Hawthorne’s personal assistant. He asked me to deliver these to you personally.”
She was Adrian’s PA?
Chloe retrieves a leather portfolio from the bag at her feet and hands it to Elena. I stand frozen in the doorway, coffee mug clutched in both hands, unable to move or speak or do anything except watch this nightmare unfold.
“How thoughtful of Adrian,” Elena is saying, opening the portfolio. “Oh, these are the treatment options he mentioned on the phone. The specialists in Switzerland.”
“Yes. Mr. Hawthorne spent considerable time researching the best facilities for your specific condition.” Chloe’s voice is perfectly professional now, no hint of the shock from moments ago. “He wanted to make sure you had all the information to make an informed decision.”
“He’s always been so kind.” Elena’s smile is soft, touched. “Even after all these years. Some friendships just endure, don’t they?”
“They do.” Chloe glances at me, and the look lasts half a second too long. “Mr. Hawthorne speaks very highly of you, Mrs. Ashcroft. He seems quite concerned about your well-being.”
“We have a long history.” Elena is absorbed in the documents now, flipping through pages of medical jargon and facility descriptions. “He was my first love, actually. Before I married Dominic.”
My fingers tighten on the coffee mug.
“I didn’t realize.” Chloe’s tone is carefully neutral, but her eyes flick to me again. “That must make things… interesting. With him being involved in your husband’s company now.”
“Oh, it’s fine. Dominic and Adrian are both adults. They can work together professionally.” Elena looks up with a smile that’s completely oblivious to the undercurrents in the room. “And Adrian has been nothing but gracious. Even offering to help with my medical expenses, though of course Dominic would never accept that.”
“Of course.” Another glance at me. “And you, Seraphina? How long have you been staying here?”
The question is innocent enough, but something in her tone makes my pulse spike.
“A few months,” I manage, my voice coming out steadier than I feel. “Since Elena started her current treatment protocol.”
“How wonderful to have family support.” Chloe’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m sure your sister appreciates having you here. And your brother-in-law as well.”
The emphasis on “brother-in-law” is so subtle I might have imagined it.
I can’t do this. Can’t stand here while she looks at me with those knowing eyes, while Elena sits there completely trusting and oblivious, while the walls close in and my carefully constructed lies threaten to crumble.
“I should—” I gesture vaguely toward the kitchen. “I have something on the stove.”
It’s a terrible excuse. I wasn’t cooking anything. But I’m already moving, already escaping, my legs carrying me out of the living room before anyone can stop me.
In the kitchen, I set my coffee mug down with shaking hands and grip the edge of the counter, trying to breathe.
The blood has drained from my face. I can feel it, the cold, clammy sensation of shock settling over my skin. My heart is hammering so hard I can hear it pulsing in my ears.
She knows. Chloe knows. Someone close to the family knows. What if she tells Adrian?
The thought hits me raw. Chloe is Adrian’s assistant. She reports to him.
And if Adrian knows, what will he do with that information?
I press my hands flat against the counter, forcing myself to breathe slowly. In. Out. In. Out.
I hear movement. Footsteps. The front door opening.
“Thank you so much for bringing these by,” Elena’s voice, warm and grateful. “Please tell Adrian I appreciate his thoughtfulness.”
“I will, Mrs. Ashcroft.” A pause. “I hope your treatment goes well. You seem like a lovely person.”
“Thank you, dear. That’s very kind.”
The door closes. Footsteps retreat down the front walk.
Then Elena appears in the kitchen doorway, portfolio in hand, smiling.
“What a sweet woman,” she says. “Though the mix-up was funny. She really thought you were me.”
“Yeah.” I force something resembling a smile. “Funny.”
“I suppose we do look alike. Same coloring, similar features.” Elena sets the portfolio on the counter and moves to the fridge. “Though I look terrible these days. You’re much prettier.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true.” She pulls out a bottle of water. “The medication has aged me ten years. But you, you’re glowing lately. Must be all that time with Zira. I’m glad you have someone to spend time with. You’ve been cooped up here taking care of me for too long.”
The guilt tries to surface and I shove it down. Not guilt. I don’t do guilt.
But the lie tastes more bitter than usual.
“What did Adrian send?” I ask, desperate to change the subject.
“Information about treatment facilities in Switzerland. Cutting-edge immunotherapy trials.” She flips through the documents absently. “The costs are astronomical, of course. Even with insurance, it would be…” She trails off. “But it’s kind of him to research it.”
“Very kind,” I echo hollowly.
“He always was thoughtful. Even in high school.” Elena’s expression goes soft with memory. “He used to bring me flowers. Not expensive ones, just wildflowers he’d pick on the way to school. Dominic never did things like that.”
The comparison feels like a knife between my ribs.
“You married Dominic,” I point out.
“I did.” She’s quiet for a moment. “Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I’d chosen differently. If I’d said yes when Adrian proposed instead of running scared into Dominic’s arms.”
My head snaps up. “Adrian proposed?”
“Senior year of college. Asked me to marry him, move to Tokyo with him while he built his business.” She smiles sadly. “I panicked. Said no. Met Dominic six months later and married him within a year.” She shakes her head. “Young and stupid. Making permanent decisions based on temporary feelings.”
“Do you regret it?” The question comes out before I can stop it.
“Marrying Dominic?” She considers. “No. Not exactly. We’ve had good years. But lately…” She trails off, and there’s something in her expression I can’t read. “Lately I wonder if he regrets it. If he wishes he’d never met me.”
“Elena—”
“It’s okay. I’ve made my peace with it.” She straightens, and that new strength is back in her posture. “Like I told you at the hospital. I’m done begging for crumbs of affection from someone who clearly doesn’t want to give them.”
She leaves the kitchen with her water and the portfolio, and I’m left standing there alone, my reflection staring back at me from the darkened window above the sink.
I look haunted. Pale. Scared.
- Writer
