Chapter 1: The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
“DAD!””
The scream tore through the luxurious wedding ballroom just as Marcus Hayes was about to exchange vows with another woman. Every guest turned toward the open doors. At the altar, Marcus froze, staring at the three children racing toward him—and at the wife he had buried with a lie.
Naomi Hayes stood beneath the glittering chandeliers in an elegant dark-green dress, her fingers wrapped around the hands of her three children. Her oldest son, ten-year-old Jordan, had tears running down his face. His younger brother, eight-year-old Caleb, clutched the side of his jacket. Five-year-old Amara held Naomi's hand so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.
Across the long, flower-lined aisle, Marcus stood beside Brielle Carter, the thirty-one-year-old bride in a breathtaking white gown.
For eleven days, Naomi had wondered whether her husband had ever loved her.
Now she was about to discover something worse.
“Those are your children?”” Brielle whispered.
Marcus didn't answer.
Jordan broke away from his mother's side and hurried several steps toward the altar.
“Dad! Why didn't you come home?””
The boy's voice cracked on the last word.
Marcus finally moved, but only to lift one hand as if he could stop the entire room from witnessing what was happening.
“Jordan, stay where you are.””
Jordan stopped.
His expression changed from hope to confusion.
“Why?”” he asked.
“Mom said you were going to explain everything.””
Naomi kept walking.
The heels of her shoes clicked against the polished marble. Guests leaned into the aisle, their champagne glasses suspended halfway to their mouths. At the front row, an elderly woman pressed a hand over her lips.
Brielle looked from the children to Marcus.
“You told me you didn't have any children.””
Marcus swallowed.
“Brielle, please. This is a private family matter.””
“A private family matter?”” Brielle repeated.
“You said your first marriage ended years ago.””
Naomi stopped a few feet from the altar.
“No,” she said quietly.
“He said whatever he needed to say to make you believe him.””
Marcus's jaw tightened.
“Naomi, why are you here?””
She stared at the man she had married twelve years earlier.
The same man who had held her hand through the birth of their youngest child. The same man who had promised their sons he would teach them to drive. The same man who had kissed Amara's forehead every night until eleven days ago.
“You threw us out eleven days ago,” Naomi answered.
A murmur spread through the ballroom.
Marcus glanced toward the guests, then toward the officiant, a middle-aged Black man who had slowly lowered his wedding book.
“Keep your voice down,” Marcus said.
Naomi almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because even now, with their children standing between them, Marcus was more concerned about his reputation than the damage he had done.
“You locked us out of our house,” she said.
“You canceled the family credit card. You left three children wondering whether their father wanted them anymore.””
“That is not what happened.””
“Then tell them what happened.””
Marcus opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Brielle stepped away from him, the train of her gown sliding across the white petals scattered around the altar.
“Marcus, look at me.””
He turned toward her.
“Tell me who she is.””
His eyes flickered toward Naomi.
“She is—”
“Your wife,” Naomi said.
The word landed harder than a scream.
Brielle stared at her.
Marcus shook his head quickly.
“We are separated.””
“Separated?”” Naomi asked.
“Is that what you call it when you leave your wife and children with two suitcases and a disconnected phone?””
Jordan began to cry openly.
Caleb wrapped one arm around his brother.
“Dad,” Caleb whispered, “are you coming home after the wedding?””
Marcus looked at the boys.
For one fleeting second, something resembling shame crossed his face.
Then he looked toward the guests again.
“This isn't the place to discuss this,” he said.
Naomi reached down and gently squeezed Amara's hand.
“You made it the place.””
The little girl buried her face against her mother's hip.
Brielle's bouquet trembled in her grasp.
“Marcus,” she said, “you told me your wife was dead.””
The ballroom fell silent.
Naomi didn't blink.
Marcus looked as though someone had pulled the floor out from beneath him.
And then Jordan, still wiping his face with his sleeve, reached inside his small black suit jacket.
He pulled out a folded official document.
“Mom found this,” he said.
Naomi accepted the paper.
The moment Marcus saw the seal at the top, the color drained from his face.
“Don't,” he whispered.
Naomi unfolded it.
Brielle leaned closer, desperate to understand what could make the man beside her look so terrified.
The heading was unmistakable.
*MARRIAGE LICENSE APPLICATION.*
Below it, a line identified Marcus as a previously married applicant.
Beside PREVIOUS SPOUSE STATUS, one word had been entered.
*DECEASED.*
Naomi slowly turned the paper toward Brielle.
Then she looked directly at her husband.
“You told them I was dead?””
Brielle turned toward Marcus in horror.
May you like
He couldn't speak.
And for the first time in twelve years, Naomi watched her husband discover what it felt like to have nowhere left to hide.
