Reclaiming His Wife

"Why are you crawling under the bed?" Jessica Thomas froze, her heart leaping into her throat at the sound of her husband’s voice. The sudden shock made her jerk upward, and a dull thud echoed through the room as her head collided with the solid oak bed frame. She winced in pain, one hand instinctively going to her scalp while the other braced against the floor. “Mark, you scared me,” she said breathlessly, emerging from beneath the bed and sitting back on her heels. She tried to calm her racing heart. “I thought you were going to be downstairs longer.” She clutched the heart-shaped pendant she had just retrieved, cradling it in her palm like something sacred. The cool metal bit into her skin, grounding her in the present. Her nerves had already been fraying under the pressure of what she was about to do, but the sound of his voice had snapped her back into a reality she was trying so hard to delay. Mark wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be downstairs, mingling with their dinner guests. Laughing, drinking, being the effortlessly charming host he was. That was the plan. She’d counted on him staying down there long enough for her to pack the essentials and leave unnoticed. But now he stood in the doorway, eyes narrowed in confusion—and maybe suspicion. Only thirty minutes ago, Jessica had made a decision that had been years in the making. She was going to walk away from her marriage. She had spent the last half hour summoning her courage, piece by piece, fully aware that the man standing before her would not make this easy. Mark Thomas didn’t lose—not in business, not in negotiations, and certainly not in marriage. But this wasn’t his choice to make. Not anymore. This was about her. About finally choosing herself after years of self-betrayal. About no longer shrinking, no longer remaining silent, no longer pretending that the shell of their marriage was anything more than a contract with a glossy finish. She was done. Done with yearning for a love that would never come. Done with the ache of being invisible to the one person who once called her his best friend. He used to look at her and see an equal. A partner. Now, he barely looked at her at all—and when he did, it was with the cool detachment of a man managing a spreadsheet. He didn’t see her. He saw an arrangement. An agreement. And what disgusted her most wasn’t even Mark—it was herself. For clinging to the faint hope that maybe, somehow, he might change. That the man who had once made her laugh in the campus library, who had whispered secrets on late-night walks, might reemerge. But that man was long gone. If he had ever truly existed at all. Three years ago, when Mark had proposed a marriage of convenience, she was elated. Grateful. Desperate. She hadn’t seen it for what it was. They had met during postgraduate studies—she, a driven student from Guyana on a scholarship; he, a legacy kid from a wealthy family with a future all but carved in stone. Despite their different backgrounds, they’d clicked. Over business case studies and late-night caffeine binges, they’d built something she thought was real. As graduation loomed, the weight of reality had begun pressing down on both of them. Mark had started venting about his mother—Elaine Thomas, steel spine and silver tongue—who insisted he marry before taking over the family business. His father was ready to retire, but Elaine was the gatekeeper. No wife, no CEO. It was a line in the sand. Mark didn’t believe in marriage. He thought love was a fairy tale peddled by Hallmark and Hollywood. He called marriage a cage—one he’d watched his parents suffer inside for decades. But he loved his mother, and he wasn’t ready to defy her outright. Jessica, meanwhile, was staring down a deadline of her own. Her student visa was set to expire in thirty days. Once it did, she’d be forced to return to the Co-operative Republic of Guyana—the only English-speaking country in South America, a place she was proud to call home. But she didn’t want to leave. Guyana, with its lush rain forests and vibrant culture, was deeply connected to the Caribbean through its colonial past. Still, America had become more than just a temporary stop—it had become a dream. A future. So, on their last night as college students, with sand between their toes and alcohol blurring the edges of their anxiety, Mark made a proposal. “Let’s get married,” he said, lying flat on his back, eyes fixed on the stars. His voice was calm, almost too casual. Jessica choked on her beer. “What?!” “I’m serious,” he said. “It would solve both our problems.” She sat up, folding her knees to her chest. “Are you insane? You must be drunker than I thought.” “Hear me out, Jess. I need a wife to keep my mother happy. You need a way to stay in the country. If we got married, it would work for both of us.” She stared at him, incredulous, but also curious. “That’s... actually logical. But you hate marriage. So why marry me?” “Because you’re the only person I trust. I know you wouldn’t make this more complicated than it needs to be. It’s a necessary evil, that’s all.” Jessica narrowed her eyes. “So what, exactly, are you suggesting? I’m not saying yes, but I want to understand.” “A marriage of convenience,” he said. “We get married, stay that way for, say, five years. By then, we’ll both be established in our careers. You’ll have permanent residency. Then we call it quits.” “Five years,” she echoed. “You think your mom will believe that?” “She’ll be thrilled I got married at all,” he replied. “She’s not expecting a fairy-tale ending.” Jessica gnawed her bottom lip, thinking, “So... married in name only? Or do you expect me to actually—?” Mark sat up sharply, looking horrified. “God, Jess, no. You’re my best friend. I don’t see you that way. Of course, it would be platonic.” “Okay, okay,” she said, raising her hands. “No need to act like I’ve got a contagious disease. I just like knowing what I’m signing up for.” “So... you’re in?” he asked, his voice softer now. “You have my tentative yes,” she said. “But we need to talk again—when we’re sober.” Mark grinned, the boyish dimple she used to find endearing flickering into view. “Relax, Jess. Some of life’s best decisions are made drunk.” She had smiled then, but in hindsight, she wasn’t sure if that moment had been the beginning of her freedom—or the start of her captivity. Now, three years later, kneeling on the bedroom floor with a pendant clutched in her fist, she finally knew the answer. And she was ready to walk away from the life they’d built together.