The Other Woman Returns

My cell phone vibrated on the coffee table as I stared blankly at the trees outside the window. The moment the screen lit up, the headline "Richard Locke picking up Gillian Wilson from prison" stabbed into my eyes like a red-hot needle, completely catching me off guard. My fingers scrolled through the comments; "Mrs. Locke" kept popping up, mixed with sneering remarks like "The other woman was released from prison, and the legal wife's reputation was ruined," each word sharp as a thorn. I'm Maya Ford, Richard Locke's lawful wife, and the woman nailed to the pillar of shame three years ago during that farcical "catching the affair" scandal. The sound of a key turning came from the entrance; I didn't move, still staring out at the trees, not even blinking. Richard Locke's footsteps grew closer, carrying the chill of late autumn, along with a faint, elusive scent of perfume—that was Gillian Wilson's favorite. "Maya, please let me explain." His voice softened deliberately as he reached out to touch my shoulder. I turned aside to avoid him, the cell phone screen still showing the trending page, the glaring headline right before his eyes. His hand froze mid-air, his Adam's apple bobbing as he said, "I didn't mean it. She just got out. Being alone outside, she's easy prey for reporters, which would only make things worse." "Make things worse?" I finally turned to look at him, my eyes catching a long strand of hair stuck to his suit—not mine. "Isn't this scandalous enough already?" His cell phone suddenly rang, the screen flashing "Mom". The moment Richard Locke answered, Old Mrs. Locke's sharp, furious voice came through the receiver: "Richard, have you lost your mind?" "You better get that woman out of here! You've already disgraced the Locke family enough!" "Mom, please calm down. I know what I'm doing." As he tried to soothe her, he shot me a glance: "I won't let her disrupt the family." After hanging up, he turned back to me, urgency creeping into his voice: "Maya, I'm really doing this for your own good." "You know how ugly the scandal was three years ago. If the reporters get hold of anything again, you'll be the one who ends up hurt." For my own good. Those words cut through me like a rusty knife, ripping open the carefully buried memories I tried so hard to seal away. That rainy night three years ago, I held my just-turned-three daughter Sienna and pushed open Richard Locke's office door. Documents were scattered across the desk. Gillian Wilson, wearing Richard's white shirt, was curled up in his arms, her face still flushed. Sienna was so scared she started crying. I was trembling all over, unable to finish my sentences. That entire farce ended with Gillian Wilson being sent to prison on charges of embezzlement—Richard Locke pinned the crime on her to save himself. "For my own good?" I repeated those words, laughing through my tears, "Richard, when have you ever done anything for my own good?" He frowned, clearly annoyed by my reaction. "It's been three years. Why are you still holding onto this?" "I only brought her out to put her up temporarily. Once the heat dies down, she'll be sent away." "Where should you put her?" I pressed him for an answer. His eyes flickered briefly, but he said nothing. Just then, the doorbell rang. Richard Locke seemed to exhale in relief and immediately went to open the door.