When the Backup Wife Disappears

The night I almost drank myself to death at a client dinner, my husband Alexander bought his first love a luxury yacht.

Maya posted it on Instagram that same night: "Best birthday gift EVER! You know who you are ����️~"

In the photo, she was in a bikini, champagne in hand, glowing with joy.

Then came the credit card alert—our joint account had been maxed out.

Before I could even confront him, Alexander called.

"Are you serious right now? Why'd you lock the card? Maya's been struggling with her depression—she needs to go sailing to clear her head! Why can't you show some compassion?"

I wanted to tell him that last night, I'd nearly killed myself closing a deal for his company.

But he'd already hung up.

Later that evening, Maya posted again—an extravagant jewelry set. The caption: "When someone truly GETS you ��✨"

In the photo, she wore a diamond ring I never got, not even on my wedding day.

But by then, I was done caring.

Because I'd made my decision—to disappear completely.

Evelyn's POV

When I stumbled through the door that night, Alexander was already waiting in the living room, looking furious.

My stomach was burning. The alcohol from the client dinner had turned to acid, eating through my insides. I could barely stand straight.

"Drunk again?" Alexander said coldly. "You remember where home IS, right?"

I didn't answer. The pain was making my vision blur.

All I could think about was the antacid in the cabinet. Ever since Maya had come back a year ago, this house had changed. Every argument, every cutting remark had turned into this churning pain in my gut.

I staggered toward the cabinet. Alexander followed.

"By the way," his tone softened slightly, "about the credit card—that was my fault. It wasn't frozen. Just maxed out."

I didn't respond, just kept searching for the medicine.

"Did you hear what I said?" His voice turned cold again.

My hands shook as I reached for the bottle. Alexander noticed, snatched it from me, and hurled it into the trash.

"Christ." He scoffed. "Every time things don't go your way, you start playing sick."

"I spent all afternoon drinking with clients—"

"Drinking?" He cut me off. "Know why Maya got hospitalized? Depression. A REAL illness. Not you just drowning your problems in alcohol."

Something in me snapped.

"So you bought her a yacht?"

Alexander froze for a second, jaw clenching.

"She needs to sail. It's part of her therapy. What, you gonna police that too?"

"That was a million-dollar yacht, Alexander."

"It's MY money. I can spend it however I WANT." His voice rose. "Who the hell do you think you are to question me?"

I wanted to say more, but another wave of pain hit. The words stuck in my throat.

Alexander's tone shifted suddenly. He walked to the kitchen counter and picked up a cake box.

"Look, Maya specifically asked me to bring you this. See? She's thinking of you."

I slowly opened the box.

Inside was half a cake with burnt birthday candle marks. The entire surface was covered in crushed peanuts.

"It's leftover from her birthday cake."

Embarrassment flickered across Alexander's face, but he recovered quickly.

"So what? Maya was being thoughtful. Can't you just appreciate the gesture?"

I gave a hollow smile.

"Even if she meant well, what about you? You KNOW I'm allergic to peanuts!"

Alexander's face flushed red.

"This is EXACTLY what you do! Always finding fault!"

I stood up, trying to find something to numb the pain. Reached for the liquor cabinet. Alexander blocked my way.

"You've had ENOUGH!"

We struggled. The cake box fell to the floor, frosting splattering everywhere.

"Look what you've done!" Alexander shouted.

He shoved me hard. I stumbled backward, crashed into the liquor cabinet. Glass bottles shattered everywhere. One shard sliced my calf.

Blood spread across the floor.

"Shit..." Alexander went pale, helping me up. "I didn't mean to—"

For a moment, I saw something in his eyes. Concern? Guilt?

But it vanished just as quickly.

At the hospital, while the nurse dressed my wound, Alexander spent the entire time frowning at his phone.

I noticed his phone case. New. Black with gold trim. I'd seen the exact same one on Maya's Instagram.

"New phone case?" I asked. "Matches Maya's, right?"

Alexander looked uncomfortable.

"She recommended it. Shockproof. What, you gonna throw a fit over THIS too?"

I leaned back against the examination table.

"Like the yacht was nothing?"

His expression darkened.

"Here we go again. Maya posts ONE photo and you're still jealous?"

"She said it was a birthday gift from you."

"So WHAT?" His voice rose. "I promised her. Whatever she wants, I'll give her. I OWE her this."

I owe her this.

My throat tightened.

"Oh," I said calmly. "I see."

Alexander turned to look at me, surprised by my composure.

"You're... not mad?"

I closed my eyes, fighting the intensifying pain in my stomach.

"Not mad. The phone case suits you."

After the nurse finished bandaging my leg, she said with concern before leaving, "Ma'am, I'm really concerned. You don't look well at all. I think you should get a full examination."

The moment she finished speaking, Alexander's phone rang again. Maya's name lit up the screen.

He answered immediately.

"What's wrong?" His tone changed instantly.

Maya was crying on the other end.

"Alexander..." Her voice was breaking. "I'm hurting so bad... I can't do this anymore..." She sobbed. "I need you... please..."

Worry flooded Alexander's face. He looked at me, then at his phone, torn.

A sharp twisting pain suddenly tore through my stomach. I doubled over, cold sweat dripping down my forehead.

"Alexander..." My voice was weak. "I can't walk... can you help me get to the examination room?"

He hesitated.

"Alexander!" Maya's crying grew louder. "I really can't hold on! I don't want to live anymore! Come here... PLEASE..."

"Please—" I started.

"You just had too much to drink!" Alexander cut me off, irritation rising. "Let the nurses handle it. Maya's having an episode—she's talking about KILLING herself! I have to go!"

And just like that, he was gone.

I sat alone on a bench in the hospital hallway, lips pale, watching people come and go. No one noticed me.

My stomach suddenly churned violently. I covered my mouth, feeling nauseous.

Before I could even bend over, everything went black.

When I woke up, I found myself lying in a hospital bed. A doctor stood beside me, expression grave.

"Ms. Green," he said gently, "we've discovered a malignant tumor in your stomach. I'd strongly advise surgery as soon as possible."

I stared at him, my mind blank.

"If it's financially feasible for you," he continued, "you might consider treatment abroad. The success rate would be significantly higher."