The Night She Came Home

“Happy third‑wedding anniversary, Jessica — to you and Lawrence! You look gorgeous tonight, though you hardly seem like yourself.” Grace Johnson knocked on my front door, clutching an expensive bottle of red wine. I pulled her into a big hug, then smiled and took the gift, tucking it away in the wine cabinet. The wine Grace brought was always premium stuff; I wasn’t about to waste it on a house party. I eagerly led her into the living room and introduced my best friend to everyone there. Most of the guests were my husband Lawrence Davis’s friends and coworkers, yet practically everyone had heard of Grace Wilson. Grace’s parents were among Los Angeles’s top‑100 wealthiest families, making her a bona‑fede heiress. As a poor orphan, I never would’ve stood a chance of befriending someone like her — but one small, accidental favor I’d done her back in junior high had bonded us for years. “I didn’t think you’d make it tonight, Grace! Weren’t you supposed to have dinner with some hot young guy?” Once we’d finished the pleasantries, I dragged her into the kitchen. While prepping food, I teased her about her plans. Grace grabbed a piece of fruit and took a couple bites, then started ranting about how underwhelming her date had been. “It’s almost ten p.m. Where the hell is Lawrence?” Grace frowned, tapping her wristwatch. It was our wedding anniversary. Lawrence had promised he’d be here, and not a single word from him. A knot of unease twisted in my stomach. I forced a smile, about to change the subject to distract Grace, when the phone in the living room rang out. “That’s gotta be Lawrence. I texted him earlier, and he said he’d be back on time.” Relief washed over me. I dropped what I was holding and hurried to answer it, but the call cut off after just two rings. I wandered over, confused, only to see an unfamiliar number on the screen. “Don’t tell me Lawrence isn’t showing up! I’ve told you this before, Jessica — that man can’t be trusted. For all we know, he’s wrapped up in some other woman’s arms right now!” Grace fumed beside me, going off on Lawrence. I didn’t take it too seriously and handed her a glass of wine without much thought. “Hey girl, chill out. You know I only care about that limited‑edition bag we saw at the mall today. If he bails, all the better. We can just make this a girls’ night, okay?” I soothed Grace while grabbing a compact mirror to touch up my makeup. I’d gone all out for our anniversary tonight. I’d even studied and copied the look of Lucy, the woman Lawrence was head‑over‑heels for. The truth was, my husband Lawrence didn’t love me. In his heart, Lucy Smith, his childhood best friend, was his one true love. Funny enough, I didn’t love him either. To be blunt, I was only after his money. Truth be told, I never would’ve gotten to marry Lawrence if Lucy hadn’t left out of the blue. Word had it he’d chased her for ages. They’d grown up side by side, perfectly matched in family and status. Right when Lawrence was about to pop the question, Lucy chose to go study abroad instead. Then my phone rang again. “Come get me. Our usual spot…” Lawrence’s voice slurred over the line. “Lawrence, are you drunk?” I was taken aback. Lawrence cared deeply about his public image and rarely got wasted around other people. Before he could say another word, I put on my sweet, soft tone and replied, “Give me a few minutes, okay?” “Are you alright, Lawrence? Let me drive you home.” Right as I was about to hang up, a familiar female voice drifted through the receiver. I froze on the spot. Lucy? Lucy had taken the phone. “Hello? Mrs. Davis? Lawrence is at Atlas Bar right now. If you can’t make it over, I can take him back.” That voice. Lucy was supposed to be overseas — yet she was back today. No wonder Lawrence had completely blown off our anniversary. He’d been drinking with her all night long. A hot, unprovoked anger flared up inside me. I couldn’t tell if I was furious about losing my steady source of income, or simply stung knowing Lucy would always mean far more to Lawrence than I ever could. I cut her off sharper than I intended. “Thank you, Miss Smith. There’s no need for that. I’m on my way.” I wrapped up the party. There was no time to change, so I threw on a coat and drove straight to Atlas Bar. When I found their private booth, the group inside was thoroughly wasted and in high spirits. My eyes locked onto Lawrence, leaning heavily on Lucy’s shoulder, the two of them murmuring intimately to one another. The room fell quiet the moment everyone spotted me. Lucy noticed the commotion but didn’t move an inch. She just sized me up from head to toe. “Jessica! You actually showed up?!” Amused, gossip‑hungry grins spread across Lawrence’s friends’ faces. They started cat‑calling. “Lucy, this is Lawrence’s wife! Word is he only married her because she looks just like you!” I let out a cold scoff and ignored them entirely. What sense could you expect from a bunch of drunk fools? But Lucy — I could swear it — the second she saw how much I resembled her, her eyes brimmed with undisguised contempt for me. I walked over to Lucy with poise and held out my right hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Smith. I’ve heard so much about you from mutual friends. I wasn’t invited to tonight’s gathering. It seems I’m the unwanted one here.” Lucy stood up, keeping her arm wrapped around Lawrence, looking every bit as if they were the real couple. “Mrs. Davis, Lawrence threw this welcome‑home party for me. I suppose he got caught up in everything and forgot to send you an invite. Still, I’ve been eager to meet you for a long time.” Some flicker of awareness still lingered in Lawrence. When he saw me, he pulled slightly away from Lucy and stumbled toward me. I stepped forward to steady him, my voice sweet and put‑on. “Darling, you’ve had far too much to drink. Let’s go home.” “Let me give you a hand.” Lucy supported Lawrence from his other side, her tone a mix of helplessness and tender indulgence. “Lawrence actually talks about you quite often around me. But he’s completely wasted tonight, so we’ll have to save our chat for another day. Whenever Lawrence gets this drunk, he clings to someone all night long and rambles non‑stop. It must have been such a hassle for you these past three years.” “N‑no… it’s no trouble at all.” I heard my own voice falter before I got the words out. In truth, I’d never seen Lawrence act like this before. Over our three‑year marriage, I’d only watched him pass out drunk once. That time, he’d flown into a rage and sent me away when I’d tried to look after him. This was only the second time I’d witnessed him like this. “Jessica, you and Lucy look so much alike I could barely tell you two apart.” Out of nowhere, Bob, one of Lawrence’s friends, stepped forward and slung an arm over my shoulder. His eyes dropped crudely to my chest as he sneered, “You’re nothing more than a stand‑in for Lawrence. Now Lucy, the woman he truly loves, is back. You know exactly how this is going to end — he’s going to dump you. So why not become my mistress instead?”