His Mute Wife's Goodbye Revenge

　　Nyelle

The day I found out I was dying was the same day my husband proposed to another woman.

I had walked into the house with a cake that I had bought after the doctor broke the heartbreaking news to me that I had cancer. My hands were trembling as I tried to call Vincent, again and again, but he didn't pick up. Not once. I sat alone in that hospital hallway listening to the phone ring until it went quiet, and each time it did, something in me broke a little more. But today was our anniversary, so I cleaned my face, forced the redness out of my eyes, and came to the house anyway, because some stupid part of me still wanted to celebrate with him.

When I stepped inside, I saw rose petals scattered across the floor in messy heart shapes, candles flickering on the table, tiny golden lights strung along the walls like stars trapped inside the room. For a second, just one second, I was happy, and I let myself believe it was for me.

Then I saw him kneeling on the floor.

"It's been five years," Vincent murmured. "Five years, and I've only ever had eyes for you. I've waited so long for this moment, so long to tell you how much you mean to me." He paused for a heartbeat. "Will you marry me again?"

My chest was pounding so hard it hurt. I would have said yes. After five years of loving a man who never once looked at me the way I needed him to, I would have said yes without a single moment of hesitation, because some foolish part of me still believed he had finally chosen me.

But then the lights came on.

And I saw Cassia, my adoptive parents' biological daughter. She stood beside Vincent in a curve-hugging red dress, matching red heels, and bold red lipstick. Her silky brown hair spilled over her shoulders as she smiled at him. "Yes, I will marry you," she said, excitement shining in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around him like she belonged there.

That was when I understood. He hadn't been kneeling for me at all.

The cake slipped out of my hands and hit the floor, cream splattering across my shoes, the box rolling somewhere I didn't bother to look. I couldn't move. Cassia was the same woman who had disappeared on her own wedding day and left me to take her place five years ago. Now she was back, and Vincent was looking at her the way I had begged silently, for five long years, for him to look at me.

Someone in the room started clapping. "They look so good together." My stomach twisted so violently I thought I might be sick right there on the petals. Nobody in that room knew I was his wife. To them I was probably just his mute secretary, standing quietly in the corner while another woman got proposed to in front of me.

I bit down on my lower lip to keep it from trembling, but the memories came anyway. I remembered standing silently in my father's office five years ago while Vincent argued that he shouldn't have to marry me. "She's mute. Why would I marry her?" he had said, like I wasn't even in the room, like I couldn't hear every word. My father hadn't even looked at me. "It's for our company," he said coldly. "This marriage is necessary." That was all I had ever been to either of them. A transaction. A replacement. The daughter with no voice and no choice.

Even on our wedding night, Vincent made the rules painfully clear. "You'll only be my wife when I need sex," he told me, loosening his tie without a trace of emotion. "Apart from that, you're nothing to me." He kept that promise for five years. Even tonight, with candles and petals and the softest voice I had ever heard from him, I had let myself forget it for one hour. I was still nothing to him. Cassia had only walked back into the room, and he had already forgotten I existed.

Vincent noticed me eventually. His brows lifted slightly in surprise, then he walked toward me, casual, like none of this was tearing me apart.

"You're back," he said flatly. He glanced at the ruined cake on the floor, then back at me, without a trace of guilt. "Your sister is back, so you know the deal." His voice stayed flat and careless. "I'll send the divorce papers soon. Sign them when they arrive. Cassia and I are getting married this week."

This week. My fingers twitched at my sides. Breathing suddenly felt impossible.

Cassia sauntered over with a dramatic pout, wrapping both hands around his arm. "Aw, still can't speak?" she asked, mocking me, her eyes dragging slowly down my body. "You still didn't get that surgery to fix your voice?" She laughed softly, then let her hand brush against my stomach. "Anyway, thanks for keeping my man safe for me. And thanks for not getting pregnant too."

Pregnant. As if that had ever been possible. Every time Vincent touched me it felt cold and mechanical, like a duty he was rushing to finish. Whenever he got close to climax, he always pulled away at the last second.

"I can't let you carry my child," he said it every single time, like a rule carved into stone.

Meanwhile I had wanted children more than I had ever wanted anything. I used to imagine tiny fingers curled around mine, tiny footsteps running down our empty hallways, someone who would love me without seeing me as a burden first. He never gave me that chance. And now I was dying, with less than two years left to live, and I had nothing to show for any of it.

Something cracked open inside me right there on that floor. Why should I leave this world with absolutely nothing?

My breathing was shaky, but I straightened my back anyway. I lifted my iPad with trembling fingers while Vincent watched, impatient, and I typed quickly, then turned the screen toward him.

"One month," it read. "Let me be your wife for one month. Your real wife. After that, I'll sign the divorce papers."