Second Choice: Wife By Contract

Chapter 5

I wake up with his arm around me.

Heavy. Warm. Possessive in that lazy way people are when they forget to guard themselves. My back fits into his chest like it’s done it a hundred times before. Like this is normal. Like this is ours.

For a second, I don’t move.

I’m afraid if I do, he’ll pull away. Or worse, I’ll realize this isn’t real.

His breath brushes the back of my neck. Slow. Even. Asleep. Actually asleep. That does something to me. Makes my chest ache in a soft, stupid way. I tell myself not to read into it.

I read into it anyway.

Maybe this means something, I think.

Maybe last night mattered.

I lie there too long, letting myself feel chosen. Letting myself imagine a version of things where I don’t have to question every quiet moment.

When he finally stirs, it’s subtle. A shift. His hand tightens slightly at my waist. Not intentional. Just instinct.

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

I smile before I can stop myself. “Morning.”

He presses his face into my hair. Breathes me in. For half a heartbeat, he holds me closer.

I almost laugh. Almost cry. Almost say something that would ruin it.

Instead, I stay quiet.

He gets up a little later. Kisses my shoulder. My forehead. Not my mouth, but I don’t let myself spiral about that today. Not today. Today feels… gentle.

“I’ll see you later,” he says, pulling on his jacket.

Later. Not maybe. Not I’ll call. Later.

“Okay,” I say, like it doesn’t matter how much that word just settled into my chest.

The door closes behind him.

I stand there for a while after. In the quiet. Wrapped in the aftermath of him. Feeling stupidly light. Like something good is finally happening to me and I don’t want to touch it too hard in case it breaks.

I consider making food.

Something warm. Something thoughtful. Something that says I was thinking of you, without actually saying it. I imagine him coming back, loosening his tie, sitting at the table. I imagine him looking at me the way he did last night.

I shake my head.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Solene.

I clean instead. Slowly. Absentmindedly. Checking my phone too often. Pretending I’m not waiting for it to light up.

When it finally does, my heart jumps.

I grab it too fast. Smile already forming.

Then it fades.

Unknown number.

I frown.

Hi. I hope this isn’t inappropriate. I’ve been trying to decide if I should reach out.

My stomach tightens.

I stare at the message like it might rearrange itself into something harmless if I wait long enough.

I type. Stop. Delete.

“Who is this?”

The reply comes a minute later. Calm. Polite.

“My name is Celeste.”

The name doesn’t mean anything yet. And somehow that makes it worse.

“I know this may be uncomfortable,” she continues, “but I think we should talk. About him.”

My chest feels hollow. Like someone scooped something important out and forgot to put it back.

About him.

I sit down hard on the couch.

My fingers hover over the screen. I feel ridiculous. Defensive. Guilty for reasons I can’t fully name.

“What about him?” I ask.

There’s a pause. Longer this time. Long enough for my thoughts to start racing.

“I was in his life before you,” she writes. “And I’m back now. I wanted to be honest.”

Honest.

The word lands wrong.

I swallow. My throat feels tight. I think of this morning. His arm around me. The way he said he’d see me later.

“I’m his wife,” I type before I can overthink it. Like a shield. Like proof.

Another pause.

Then:

“Yes. I know.”

I exhale shakily.

She sends another message, softer. Almost kind.

“He doesn’t talk about you much. But I can tell you matter to him. In your way.”

In your way.

There it is. That tiny tilt of superiority. Polished. Controlled. Not cruel. Just precise enough to cut.

I stare at the words until they blur.

My phone buzzes again.

This time, it’s him.

My heart stutters.

Two names on my screen. Two worlds colliding. My fingers feel numb. I don’t know which one to answer first. I don’t know which truth I’m ready for.

I sit there, phone glowing in my hand, realizing something quietly devastating.

Whatever I thought this morning was…

it’s already slipping through my fingers.

And I don’t know if holding on tighter will save me…

or finally break me.