Seven Years Married, But I Never Existed

Seven years into her marriage with Zack Pierce, Claire Lawson arrived at the housing office with her state residency records to apply for the school's public housing, only to have the clerk coldly inform her the document was fake. 'No. That couldn't be.' She must have misheard. Forcing politeness, she leaned forward, "Excuse me, could you check again? My husband personally handled the transfer." The clerk sighed, checked the records again with deliberate slowness, then smirked, "I'm not mistaken. This file lists two dependents under the household head, his wife Hannah Brooks and his son Lucas Pierce." Claire went rigid. Her mind spun, thoughts tangling into chaos. Hannah. Wasn't that Zack's fallen comrade's widow? Why was she listed as his wife? With trembling hands, she checked again. There it was in black and white, Wife, Hannah. Son, Lucas. Her name was nowhere to be found. Numb, she walked out and headed for the address on file, Zack's real home. She stopped at the gate, frozen by the laughter drifting from inside. "Guess what Daddy got you?" Zack's voice rang out as he held up a bag of White Rabbit milk candies, the same kind he had given Claire on their first date. "I love you, Dad." The boy, Lucas, threw himself into his arms. Hannah appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron, "Go wash up, dinner's ready." The warmth of the scene cut into Claire like a blade, turning her cold from the inside out. She turned and fled before the tears could fall. Night had fallen by the time she made it home. The housekeeper rushed over, flustered, "Ms. Lawson. Mr. Pierce called six times, he's worried sick. You need to call him back right away." Claire barely reacted when the phone rang. The housekeeper picked it up, "Mr. Pierce, she's here..." The moment the receiver touched Claire's ear, everything broke. Tears she had held back all day spilled over. "Claire," Zack's voice tightened, "what's wrong? Are you okay? I'll put in for leave tomorrow!" A week ago, those words would have made her heart soar. For seven years, he had only come home twice a year, like clockwork. When she begged to join him on base, he always refused, saying the conditions were too harsh. Not once had she suspected he was living a lie, that even their marriage might not be real. "The base is no place for you," he had said before, his voice gentle, "wait until I get promoted, then we won't have to be apart." She had believed every word. Now, after a steady breath, her voice didn't shake, "Don't come. I'll go to you." "I already told you, I don't want you here suffering. Did something happen. I'll come by tomorrow." His concern sounded real, but the familiar response only brought a strange calm over her. She wiped her tears, "It's nothing serious. Just a cold." "Take care of yourself. Ask the housekeeper to make you some soup. Your students matter, but your health comes first. Take your medicine, alright. Don't make me worry. I'll come see you the moment I get leave." His voice softened like always, and this time, she couldn't stop the tears. Just before she hung up, a child's voice suddenly came through the line, "Dad, hurry. Mom cut her hand." In his panic, he dropped the phone. The line stayed open. For a full minute, Claire stood there, listening to the muffled chaos on the other end. When the call finally disconnected, she dialed another number, her voice steady now. "Professor Keneth, I'll go. The 403 Research Institute." There was a pause before Professor Keneth spoke, his tone serious, "Claire, are you certain? Once you sign up, you disappear. No records, no past. Is this really what you want?" She didn't hesitate, "I've made my decision." "We're on a tight schedule. This mission is life or death. Wrap everything up within two weeks. A car will come for you, once you leave, there's no turning back."