I Was Planning Our Wedding When He Told Me He Had a Wife Chapter 04

I Was Planning Our Wedding When He Told Me He Had a Wife Chapter 04

When I saw Mom, I didn’t say anything. I just listened as usual to her endless reminders about how to ensure smooth sailing on my wedding day, how to stay healthy after the baby comes…

Her tone was full of mundane nagging and… the heavy, meticulous instructions of someone settling final affairs. I nodded, agreeing. I massaged her shoulders, helped organize the wedding gifts she’d long prepared for me. Sunlight streamed into the old-fashioned living room, just like countless afternoons in the past.

But when I got up to pour water, I accidentally caught my reflection in the mirror after just two short days, I looked like I’d aged ten years.

Before the wedding, I insisted on meeting that woman. Jason agreed. Perhaps he figured that once I saw her with my own eyes, saw her mediocrity, her timidity, the vast gulf between us.

I would accept the future he’d arranged for me. He knew my pride. He knew my soft heart. He also knew… how much Mom liked her future son-in-law, how much she wanted to see me settle down…

The car headed towards a quiet, expensive villa district in the west of the city. My heart sank lower with each passing moment. This didn’t look like the “just found some place to settle her” he’d described.

In front of a white three-story villa, a maid opened the door, smiling. “Welcome home, sir.” Inside, the decor was in the currently popular Italian style. Costly, with impeccable taste.

Then, I saw her. She stood at the turn of the staircase. Very young. Her features held a fragile kind of beauty.

“Jason!” Her voice was soft and delicate, with a hint of a Southern accent.

Jason gave a noncommittal “Hmm.” His tone held a slight reproach. “Why are you down here without shoes? How many times have I told you the floor is cold!”

“I… I heard the car.” She whispered, her fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of her clothes.

“This is Evelyn Jones.” Jason introduced simply. He didn’t explain who I was, nor did he introduce her to me.

She glanced at me quickly, her voice growing even smaller. “Ms…. Ms. Jones, hello. I’m Chloe Smith!”

I looked at her. Young. Beautiful. Delicate. Perfectly fitting the image Jason had painted of someone “unsophisticated, in need of responsibility.”

He’d said he’d tried to give her options. Sent her to study, or arranged a cushy position at the company so she could earn her own dignity.

But she refused. Afraid of strangers. Afraid she couldn’t learn. Afraid of getting tired. She only wanted to stay like this, in this beautiful house, waiting for him to return, or for him to remember.

…

I was about to speak when Jason stepped forward, scooped her up in his arms, and said to the maid, “Mrs. Wilson, bring Mrs. Miller’s slippers.” The girl nestled into the crook of his shoulder.

I stood frozen in place. Watching him take the slippers the maid handed him, go down on one knee, and put them on her feet.

The title of “Mrs.” that should have been mine, and the care so ingrained in him it was like breathing, it was like a bucket of ice water, instantly dousing all the warmth I’d accumulated over six years.

From start to finish, his tone towards her was one of exasperated patience for a troublesome child, but his actions were as instinctive as breathing. A habit born of years, requiring no thought. The answer was clear the moment I stepped inside. If this marriage really happened, it would only mean one more person getting hurt.

I stayed less than three minutes before standing up. “I should go.”