THE HUSBAND IN MY DEATH CERTIFICATE

Chapter Two: Welcome Back, Mrs. Voss

Chapter Two: Welcome Back, Mrs. Voss

"Welcome back, Mrs. Voss."

The whisper brushed against my ear.

I spun around so quickly that my shoulder struck the dressing table. A glass bottle toppled over and shattered against the floor.

"Who's there?"

Nobody answered.

The room was completely dark. Somewhere behind me, Nina gasped. I heard the rustle of fabric, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone moving toward the door.

Then the lights flickered back on.

I stood beside the dressing table, breathing hard, with one hand pressed against my chest.

Elias was still there.

So was Nina.

The older gentleman who had accompanied him was gone.

I looked toward the open doorway. The corridor was empty, stretching into the distance beneath the hotel’s golden ceiling lights.

"Who said that?" I demanded.

Elias's expression had changed. Whatever grief I had seen in his eyes earlier had been replaced by something colder.

Fear.

Not the ordinary kind that came from being startled in a dark room.

This was recognition.

He knew that voice.

"Answer me!" I snapped.

He looked at the doorway.

"Was anyone standing behind you when the lights went out?"

"How would I know? I couldn't see anything!"

"Did they touch you?"

"No!"

"Did they say anything else?"

I stared at him.

"You are not seriously questioning me as though I am a witness in one of your corporate investigations."

"No," he replied. "I'm questioning you because someone just called you by a name you haven't used in seven years."

My blood turned cold.

Mrs. Voss.

I looked down at the marriage certificate still lying on the dressing table.

My name was printed beside his.

The signatures were real enough to fool anyone who didn't know me. But I knew my handwriting. I knew the way I crossed my capital M and curved the final letter of my surname.

That signature belonged to me.

And I had no memory of making it.

"Get out," I whispered.

Elias turned toward me.

"Mara—"

"Get out!"

Nina immediately moved between us.

"You heard her. Leave."

For a moment, I thought he would argue. Instead, he picked up the photograph from the dressing table and placed it carefully inside his jacket.

"Keep the certificate," he said. "Don't let anyone take it from you."

"Why?"

"Because it's the only original evidence we have that your death was registered."

I stared at him.

"You mean the only evidence you have."

His jaw tightened.

"You're right."

The admission surprised me.

He walked toward the door, then stopped.

"Mara, whatever Julian tells you tonight, don't sign anything."

My stomach twisted.

"Why would I sign anything?"

Elias looked at me with an expression I couldn't decipher.

"Because seven years ago, you did."

Then he left.

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

For several seconds, neither Nina nor I moved.

Finally, she exhaled.

"I hate him."

I sank into the nearest chair.

"Get in line."

"No, seriously. The man walks into your bridal suite, tells you that you're his dead wife, produces a photograph of a wedding you don't remember, and then leaves you with a warning that sounds like the beginning of a murder investigation."

"I know."

"And he looks at you like you've broken his heart."

I covered my face with both hands.

"Please stop talking."

She fell silent.

That frightened me more than anything else.

Nina always talked when she was nervous. She made jokes, asked questions, and filled uncomfortable silences with meaningless observations.

Now she was watching me as though she had discovered something she didn't know how to say.

I lowered my hands.

"What?"

She hesitated.

"When he said you had been his wife, I thought he was lying."

"And now?"

She glanced at the marriage certificate.

"Now I'm wondering why I recognize the handwriting."

The room seemed to grow smaller.

"What do you mean?"

Nina swallowed.

"Seven years ago, before we became friends, I worked as an intern at a newspaper. I remember a story about Elias Voss's wedding. It was supposed to be a private ceremony, but someone leaked a photograph."

My fingers tightened around the arms of the chair.

"Was the woman in the photograph me?"

"I don't know. The picture was never published. The newspaper received a legal warning, and the editor ordered every copy of the article removed."

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?"

"Because I didn't connect it to you!" she exclaimed. "Mara, you were in university. You were sitting in my kitchen eating instant noodles when that story came up. You said you had never even been to the city where the wedding supposedly happened."

I stared at her.

"I did?"

She nodded slowly.

"You laughed about it. You said rich people were strange."

A memory stirred somewhere in the back of my mind.

A small kitchen.

Rain against a window.

A newspaper spread across a table.

But when I reached for the memory, it dissolved into fragments.

I pressed my fingers against my temples.

"Something is wrong with my head."

Nina knelt in front of me.

"Listen to me. We're not going to assume anything. We have a document, a photograph, and a man who clearly knows more than he is telling us. That's all."

I nodded, though I wasn't sure I believed her.

My phone vibrated again.

Julian.

This time, I answered immediately.

"Where are you?"

"I'm outside the hotel."

His voice sounded breathless.

"Come upstairs."

"No. Meet me in the lobby."

"Julian—"

"Mara, please."

Something in his voice made me pause.

He sounded frightened.

I looked at Nina.

She shook her head.

I ignored her.

"Five minutes," I told him.

I ended the call and gathered the documents.

Nina grabbed my arm.

"You're not going down there alone."

"I'm not planning to."

We left the bridal suite together.

The hotel lobby was crowded with wedding guests, staff, and strangers who had come to admire the elaborate decorations. White flowers covered the reception tables. A string quartet played beside the staircase.

Everything looked normal.

That was the worst part.

My life had split into two versions of reality, and nobody else seemed to notice.

Julian stood near the reception desk.

The moment he saw me, he crossed the lobby.

He looked at my face first, then at the documents in my hand.

"You received it," he said.

I stopped walking.

"You knew."

His expression changed.

"Mara, let me explain."

"Did you know someone had registered my death seven years ago?"

He glanced around the lobby.

"Not here."

"Did you know I was married to Elias Voss?"

Julian closed his eyes briefly.

That was answer enough.

My heart sank.

"How long have you known?"

"I didn't know it was you."

"That isn't what I asked."

He reached for my hand. I pulled away.

"Two months," he admitted.

Two months.

We had chosen our wedding date two months ago.

We had sent invitations, booked the venue, selected flowers, and argued over the seating arrangement.

For two months, he had known something about my past that could change everything.

And he had said nothing.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I needed to be certain."

"Certain of what?"

"That the woman in those records was you."

I stared at him.

"You could have asked me."

"I did."

"When?"

"Do you remember the first time I asked about your family before university?"

I remembered the conversation. Julian had asked why I had so few photographs from my childhood. I had told him that my family had moved several times and that many of our belongings had been lost.

He had seemed satisfied.

At least, I thought he had.

"You told me you didn't remember much about that period," he continued. "Then I found a financial record bearing your name. It was connected to a company that had been dissolved seven years ago."

"What company?"

He hesitated.

"Ellery Holdings."

The name struck something inside me.

I had seen it before.

Not in a newspaper. Not in a document.

Somewhere I couldn't reach.

"Who owned it?"

Julian looked directly at me.

"Your brother."

The lobby seemed to fall silent.

Adrian Ellery had been missing for six years. My family had told me he left the country after a business dispute, and I had spent years searching for him without finding anything useful.

Nobody had ever mentioned a company.

"You're lying," I whispered.

"I wish I were."

I stepped back.

"Did you know Elias?"

"Not personally."

"But you knew about the marriage."

"Yes."

"And the death certificate?"

He hesitated again.

"Yes."

I felt something inside me c***k.

"Get away from me."

"Mara, listen—"

"No!"

People turned to look.

I didn't care.

"You stood beside me at the altar rehearsal yesterday. You held my hand and promised that you would never keep secrets from me."

"I was trying to protect you."

"Everyone keeps saying that!"

My voice broke.

"Elias says he was protecting me. You say you're protecting me. Whoever sent those documents apparently thinks I'm too fragile to know my own history. I'm tired of being protected by people who won't tell me the truth."

Julian looked devastated.

For the first time since I had met him, I didn't know whether his expression was genuine.

He reached into his jacket and withdrew a small envelope.

"I found this among the documents connected to Ellery Holdings."

I refused to take it.

"Keep it."

"It's addressed to you."

"I don't care."

He placed it on the reception desk.

"Mara, your brother left instructions that this should only be opened if Elias Voss ever found you."

I stared at him.

"Why?"

Julian's voice dropped to a whisper.

"Because Adrian believed Elias would eventually come looking for his wife."

I looked at the envelope.

My name was written across the front in handwriting I recognized from the few birthday cards my brother had sent me before he disappeared.

My hands began to shake.

I opened it.

Inside was a single sheet of paper.

Three lines.

Three sentences that made the entire room seem to tilt.

Mara, if you're reading this, then Elias has found you.

Do not believe that you were the only one who died that night.

And whatever you do, never let him take you to the house where you were married.

Beneath the message was an address.

I knew the street name.

I had seen it on the death certificate.

It was listed as the place where my body had supposedly been found.

And beside the address, my brother had written one final sentence.

Your death was the only thing keeping the rest of us alive.