The House My Husband Built for Another Woman

On Thanksgiving, Liam said there was a last-minute emergency at the law firm and left first thing in the morning. My mom, Susan, called to say she was heading over to a relative's house, and my dad tagged along. Liam’s mother, Eleanor, came by to pick up our kid, Leo, claiming she wanted to keep her at her place for a couple of days.

That left me all alone in the apartment. We were two months behind on rent, and we were still one payment short on Liam's law school loans. I couldn't just sit around, so I snatched up a rush job on an app for a luxury house cleaning.

I arrived in Calabasas with my cleaning supplies. A young woman answered the door.

She ushered me inside and pointed upstairs. "Thanks for coming on such short notice."

I hauled my bucket up the stairs and pushed open the master bedroom door. A massive wedding photo hung on the wall. The man in the picture was my husband of five years, Liam.

I froze. The mop slipped from my grip, hitting the floor with a loud smack.

Hearing the noise, the woman came upstairs. She leaned against the doorframe and glanced at me. "Is everything okay?"

I stared at the photo on the wall. "The man in the picture... is that your husband?"

She smiled, the very picture of bliss, and touched the ring on her finger. "Yeah, he's my husband."

"We needed a deep clean for Thanksgiving. He didn't want me tiring myself out, so he paid to hire you. Are you not married? Why are you out here working on Thanksgiving?"

I closed my eyes, pausing for a split second.

"I am. But we're about to get a divorce."

The woman let out a soft chuckle.

"Don't look so down, honey. If you get divorced, just move on to the next one."

"Every relationship has its friction, but my husband is different. He runs his law firm flawlessly, and when he comes home, he treats me like an absolute princess."

I didn't reply. I just got on my knees and started scrubbing the floor. This master bedroom was bigger than my entire rented apartment. The hardwood floors were waxed, making them hard and slick beneath my knees.

"You work fast," Stella said, casually admiring her manicure. "Do you do this kind of work a lot?"

"Liam told me he used to have it rough, struggling in the slums. That's why he works so hard now to earn the life we have."

The rag paused in my hand.

"Your husband had it rough in the slums?"

The woman waved a hand dismissively.

"Yeah, he said his previous marriage was a total nightmare. His ex-wife was uneducated, knew absolutely nothing, and only knew how to do menial labor. She was always just getting in the way."

I turned my head to look at her.

"Getting in the way?"

She nodded and sighed.

"Right. Not only did she have zero class, but she slept around, too. Thank God she died in a car crash a few years ago, or Liam’s entire life would have been ruined by that woman."

My hand tightened. A splash of water spilled over the rim of the bucket.

The woman shrieked, stumbling backward.

"Oh my God, watch what you're doing! Don't get water everywhere! Liam's mother and brother are coming over for dinner soon, and his family is extremely particular about cleanliness!"

I wiped up the spilled water and looked back at her.

"His family is coming?"

The woman nodded proudly.

"Of course. It's our first Thanksgiving in the new house. Liam's mother absolutely adores me. She just gave me a bracelet yesterday."

She raised her wrist. A diamond-studded rose gold bracelet shimmered on her slender arm.

I recognized that bracelet.

Last year, when I took Eleanor shopping, she stood outside the jewelry store window staring at it for a full hour. I saved up for eight months just to scrape together enough money to buy it. On Eleanor’s birthday, I handed her the box. She opened it, took one look, hugged me, and said, "Chloe, you are like a daughter to me."

Now, that very same bracelet was sitting on another woman's wrist.

I lowered my head and went back to scrubbing. The rag made a dry, harsh squeak against the wood.

"Your husband must really love you."

Stella glanced down at her wrist, smiling sweetly.

"He does. He’s the man God sent to make me happy."

"He even put this house in my name."

"He told me that everything his dead wife never got to enjoy, he was going to make up for by giving it to me tenfold."

I couldn't help but let out a cold laugh.

Make up for it?

When Liam was facing charges and a massive lawsuit for hitting someone while driving under the influence, I was the one working three jobs a day to fill that bottomless pit of debt. I washed cars outside in the dead of winter until my knees went completely numb. He was the one who fell to his knees in our cramped apartment, hugging my legs, crying and promising that once he made partner, he would put me in a huge house where I’d never have to touch freezing water again.

Well, now he had money, and he sure bought that huge house.

Only, the lady of the house wasn't me.

And I had become the dead, bloodsucking ex-wife in his little fairy tale.

"Don't be so sad. You'll find somebody else after your divorce," the woman said, looking down and playing with her phone. "As long as you do a good job today, I’ll tell my sweetheart to leave you a fat tip."

I tossed the dirty rag back into the bucket.

"Sure. I really appreciate that."

"What did you say your husband's name was?"

The woman touched the diamond necklace at her throat, her face softening with affection.

"His name is Liam."

"What's yours?" she asked suddenly.

I paused.

"Chloe."

She froze for a second, then laughed.

"What a coincidence. Liam's dead ex-wife was named Chloe, too."