HIS TWO WIVES

Snowflakes drifted through the New York air, soft as ash, melting the moment they touched Dawn Collins’s lashes. Her breath came out in visible clouds as she hurried down the icy streets, her boots crunching through slush. The city still wore its Christmas smile—twinkling lights strung across balconies, wreaths clinging stubbornly to doors, and a half-deflated Santa slumped beside a café window. The holiday had ended, but the city wasn’t ready to let go. Dawn tightened her faded coat around her and checked the glowing screen of her phone. It led her toward a small pizzeria a few blocks ahead. It wasn’t her dream job, but it was a job—and that was enough for now. She was halfway across the street when a horn blared. “Watch it!” Her heart leapt into her throat as a sleek black car screeched to a halt inches from her knees. She stumbled back, chest heaving, eyes wide. The tinted window rolled down to reveal an older woman—elegant, perfectly poised, and furious. “Are you out of your mind? Do you have a death wish?” the woman barked, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. “I—I’m sorry,” Dawn stammered, her breath hitching. The woman muttered something under her breath, slammed the window up, and sped off, leaving Dawn in a rush of exhaust and humiliation. For a second, she just stood there, clutching her chest, her pulse thrumming in her ears. Then she shook her head. Get it together, Dawn. You’ve survived worse. Because she had. It had been nine long years since the accident that took her parents—nine years since her world collapsed and she became more sister than child. Her aunt, Peige, had taken them in, but the woman’s home had been a cold kind of prison. The chores, the shouting, the endless reminders that they were charity cases. At seventeen, Dawn had fled, her siblings in tow, taking every odd job she could find. Babysitting, mopping floors, scrubbing dishes—whatever it took to feed them. By twenty, she’d scraped together enough for a one-bedroom apartment. Small, yes—but theirs. Now, at twenty-three, every day was a battle between exhaustion and hope. Rent. Tuition. Groceries. Life was an endless balancing act, and one wrong move could send everything crashing down. She exhaled shakily, lifting her gaze to the glowing sign ahead. “This is it,” she whispered. The moment she stepped inside the pizzeria, warmth enveloped her like a hug she hadn’t realized she needed. The air smelled of baked bread and melted cheese, the kind of comfort that reminded her of better days. She was about to approach the counter when a man’s furious voice cut through the chatter. “You treat me like trash, and I’ve had enough!” Dawn turned just as the young man ripped off his apron, threw it at his boss, and stormed toward the door. He brushed past her shoulder on his way out, muttering something she didn’t catch. “Good riddance!” the manager barked, and a young woman behind the counter rolled her eyes. “Yeah, whatever. He wasn’t that good anyway,” the man said before disappearing into the back. Dawn took a tentative step forward. “Um… hi. I’m here about the job opening?” The assistant turned—a woman about her age with soft curls and a tired but kind smile. “Perfect timing,” she said with a small laugh. “We just lost a guy, and we’re short-staffed. You looking for part-time or full-time?” “Anything, really,” Dawn replied quickly. “I can start right now if you need.” “That’s the kind of energy I like.” The woman extended her hand. “Alex Barnes.” “Dawn Collins.” Alex nodded approvingly and handed her a folded uniform from under the counter. “You can change in there,” she said, nodding toward a narrow hallway marked Employees Only. A few minutes later, Dawn emerged in her new uniform—too big in the shoulders, but warm and clean. “You actually make that thing look good,” Alex teased. Dawn’s laugh slipped out before she could stop it. “Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.” “Here.” Alex handed her a pizza box and a delivery slip. “First order of the night. You got this.” Dawn nodded, her heart fluttering with something she hadn’t felt in a while—hope. “Thank you.” She pushed open the door, stepping back into the winter chill. * * * * * * Across town, in a mansion bathed in soft golden light, Daphne Manchester adjusted her fur coat and sat on an ornate sofa. The sound of faint fireworks popped in the distance, heralding the coming New Year. Her phone buzzed, but she ignored it, her eyes flicking toward the grand staircase just as her son appeared. Adam Manchester. Tall, well-built, handsome—and broken in ways most people couldn’t see. “What’s wrong, Adam?” Daphne asked softly, studying his tired eyes. “Nothing,” he said flatly, walking past her. She sighed. “I’m your mother. Don’t lie to me.” He hesitated, shoulders tense. Memories he tried to bury clawed their way back—Ava’s laughter, her perfume, the way she used to fill every corner of his life with light. Then came the illness, the surgeries, the silence. One year in a coma, and still, he couldn’t stop loving her. “I’m fine, Mother,” he murmured, his tone clipped, final. Then he disappeared down the hall. Daphne watched him go, heart aching. The house had grown too quiet since Ava fell ill. The doorbell rang. Frowning, Daphne rose and opened it. “Good evening, ma’am,” came a bright voice. “Pizza delivery.” Her eyes widened. “You!” Dawn blinked. “Ma’am?” “You’re the girl who almost threw herself under my car earlier!” Realization hit Dawn like a splash of cold water. “Oh—oh my God, that was you! I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to—” Daphne held up a hand, her irritation fading into amusement. “Just… try not to get yourself killed before the New Year.” “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be careful,” Dawn said quickly, handing over the pizza. Daphne passed her a generous tip and closed the door. For a moment, she stood there, her mind turning like gears clicking into place. Then, slowly, a smile curved her lips. “Maybe,” she murmured to herself, “there’s a solution for Adam after all.”