The Stranger Husband

The Uninvited Guest

“I’m back, Avani,” followed by a wink emoji.

The screen glowed in the dim light of the hallway. Who could it be? The use of my nickname sent a flicker of unease through me, but I shook it off. I had enough real-life ghosts to deal with without chasing digital ones. I ignored the message and stepped further into the house.

Thirst gnawed at my throat, so I detoured to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. From the living room, the sound of easy, continuous laughter drifted toward me. Sam and Johnny were deep in a story, while Livia looked on with a shy, bright smile. They looked so synchronized, so happy, that I felt like a ghost in my own home. Not wanting to intrude on their bubble, I started heading upstairs.

I was halfway up the staircase when the laughter abruptly died. I turned my head, feeling suddenly self-conscious, to find all three of them staring in my direction.

Sam broke the silence first, a warm, genuine smile lighting up his face. “Avantika! Don't run off. Come join us.”

I’ve always had a soft spot for Sam. He carries a natural warmth that’s impossible to resist. Even during the long months when Johnny was a ghost, Sam had been a steady presence for me, and I was deeply grateful for it. He was the kind of man who made you feel safe—a positive soul who acted like the brother I’d lost. He was also the only one who truly understood the hollow nature of my marriage; I could see the quiet sympathy in his eyes whenever Johnny and I were in the same room.

I glanced at Johnny. He was leaning back, giving me a look so dark it practically shouted: Do not accept that invitation.

Naturally, I did the opposite.

I set my glass down and headed toward the living room. Sam was tucked onto the loveseat with Livia, leaving only one spot available: the cushion directly beside Johnny. Ugh.

As I moved to sit, Johnny shifted pointedly, sprawling out to occupy half of my space. I stared at him, incredulous. What are you, five years old? It was a transparent, petty move to keep me away.

“Come on, Johnny,” Sam said, clearly catching the maneuver. “Stop acting like a kid and give her some room.”

Johnny grumbled, shifting a mere fraction of an inch—hardly enough to matter. I squeezed myself into the remaining sliver of the sofa, the heat of his shoulder pressing against mine.

“I assume that’s enough for her? Right?” Johnny asked, his jaw tight as he looked at me.

“No, actually, I’m quite uncomfortable,” I replied, keeping my voice level.

Johnny glared at me. I met his gaze with a look that said: I’m just stating the facts, "darling."

He shifted another inch. It was still cramped, but I could manage.

The tension eased as they fell back into their childhood memories. The three of them had been inseparable since they were five, and the stories began to flow. They laughed as they recounted how Johnny always got caught whenever he tried to cheat on exams. Listening to them, I realized they weren't actually that bad; they were fun, even Johnny. He was sharp and quick-witted, cracking jokes about a childhood crush Sam once had on Livia’s mother.

Livia eventually steered the conversation toward her career, mentioning a major project she was handling with Collins. She was a beautiful, driven woman—a rising star in the fashion world who worked for Samuel’s company. I liked her; she was straightforward and passionate, a rare combination in Johnny's circle.

I sat quietly, listening and smiling at the mental images of them as awkward teenagers. But as I watched, my eyes kept drifting back to Johnny.

There was something about the way he smiled when he was truly happy. It was the most beautiful thing I’d seen in a long time because it reached all the way to his eyes, lighting up his soul like a spring flower opening to the sun. I could see the genuine warmth spreading from deep inside him. His mahogany hair was messy and uncombed, falling over his forehead in a way that made him look human. Occasionally, his gaze would snap to mine, sharp and questioning, as if he were trying to figure out why I was still there.

The moment was shattered when Gloria appeared from the direction of Johnny's home office.

“Sir, I found that file you were looking for,” she said, her voice dropping into a seductive purr. She was swaying her hips in a deep-neck dress that barely reached her mid-thighs.

As she reached the coffee table, the files "accidentally" slid from her hands. She bent down slowly to retrieve them, giving my "loyal" husband a front-row seat to her cleavage.

Predictably, he didn't look away. He took a long, lingering moment to admire the view. My blood turned to ice.

She gathered the papers and made a move to sit on the edge of the sofa, right next to Johnny. I didn't give her the chance.

“I believe your work here is finished,” I commanded, my voice cutting through the room like a blade. “NOW. YOU. CAN. TAKE. YOUR. LEAVE.” I emphasized every word, my eyes boring into hers.

Johnny looked at me, a flicker of genuine amusement dancing in his green eyes. I didn't care why he found it funny. What else was a wife supposed to do when her husband’s assistant was performing a private show in the middle of the living room?

Gloria gave me a plastic, razor-thin smile and beat a hasty retreat.

As the door clicked shut behind her, my phone vibrated in my pocket. Another text from the unknown number:

“No reply? Don’t you miss me,Avani?”

I stared at the screen, the mystery gnawing at me. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard before I finally typed back:

“I’m sorry, I don’t recognise this number. Who are you?”