First message
The knock comes while I’m making coffee. You’re upstairs, so I leave my mug on the counter and answer it. There’s a man standing outside, around my age, looking exhausted and pissed off.
“Can I help you?”
He says your name.
“Yeah?”
“I need to talk to her.”
I lean against the doorframe. “And you are?”
“Her husband.”
I stare at him.
Then I actually laugh.
“Sorry?”
“Her husband.”
“Yeah, I heard you.” I lift my left hand, showing him the ring. “I’m just struggling with the part where you’re apparently married to my wife.”
His eyes drop to my hand. Something changes in his face.
“How long have you been married?”
Now I’m getting annoyed. “Who the hell are you?”
“Just answer me.”
“Two years.”
He goes completely still.
Then he lets out this horrible little breath.
“We’ve been married for seven.”
My stomach drops.
“No.”
He reaches into his coat and pulls out his phone. I almost tell him to get off my property—then he turns the screen toward me. It’s you. Younger. Wedding dress. His arm around you.
I grab the phone.
“What the fuck?”
He starts showing me more. Holidays. Birthdays. You asleep beside him. A marriage certificate. Seven years ago. My brain refuses to catch up.
“This isn’t possible.”
“Yeah. That’s what I thought when I found out about you.”
Then I hear footsteps behind me.
“Julian? What are you doing here?”
I turn.
You’re halfway down the stairs. You see him. look at him. I look at you.
” So, I’m the other ‘woman’ ”