Chapter 4: The Substitute Wife

Discovering Nathan Reeves’s betrayal began with a phone call.

That night, he was out drinking at their usual Midtown cigar bar—where deals were made and marriages destroyed. I called him, worried. The phone rang, then answered, probably by accident.

I said hello, but no one replied. Instead, Nathan’s conversation filtered through, along with clinking glasses and raucous laughter.

"Nate, now that Sophia’s back, what about Rachel?" Derek, his law school roommate.

Nathan’s voice was casual, whiskey-slurred. "I have to give Sophia her place. I stayed with Rachel three years, never let her get pregnant—just waiting for Sophia to come back."

"If she didn’t look like Sophia, you think I’d have married her?"

My hand froze on the phone, heart pounding. Three years of marriage—was I just a stand-in?

After we married, Nathan’s parents pushed for grandkids. His mom sent articles, made clinic appointments. Nathan always stood up for me, or so I thought.

No matter how hard we tried, I couldn’t get pregnant. The fertility doctor was baffled—both of us were fine. I blamed myself. Nathan’s mother blamed me.

All along, it was Nathan’s doing. Birth control in my smoothies? Lies about his own health?

He probably laughed, watching me choke down bitter herbs, go to acupuncture, fertility yoga. His friends joked about me, too.

"Nate’s lucky. Rachel’s gorgeous, but when the ex cries, the current one’s gotta go. She doesn’t even know she’s Sophia’s substitute, right?"

"How can she compare to Sophia? Just an orphan girl. Nate marrying her, she should be grateful."

Nathan sneered, ice cubes clinking in his glass. "If you like her, go for it. When I divorce her, you can have her."

Laughter exploded. "Don’t be reluctant, man."

"How could I be? Go ahead. If you succeed, I lose."

"You’re sure she’s madly in love with you—"

"Whose wife brings soup and clothes at night—"

Someone cursed. "Damn, I’m jealous. I’ll get in line first—don’t compete with me."

Nathan laughed, the sound turning my stomach.

I shook, unable to process it. Three years—was I ever anything but a substitute?

Suddenly, Nathan cursed. "Who just answered my phone?"