I Was Just a Stand-In for His Dead First Love, Until I Walked Away for Good

When Otto Henson and I were dating, he always kept a careful distance, tender and restrained.

It wasn't until the second year of our marriage that we finally lived like newlyweds, tangled up in each other, the heat of it consuming.

But every night, afterward, Otto would insist on wiring money to my account.

Sometimes two hundred dollars, sometimes three, sometimes as much as three thousand.

Each time, he'd explain with that delighted smile,

"My wife works so hard. A little something to treat yourself."

I'd take it shyly, even tucked it away in quiet to cover our household costs.

Until the day I accidentally overheard him talking with a friend.

"Beth Swanson is just a warm body to sleep with. With the lights off, they're all the same. I know Cindy would forgive me. She wouldn't want to watch me suffer while she's gone."

The Cindy he spoke of was his first love, dead these past five years.

At the mention of the departed, his friend softened, moved, offering comfort,

"You really are the most devoted of us, Otto. After all these years, you still keep Cindy enshrined in your heart. Her spirit must be watching over you. All this time you've cared for her mother and raised her child in her place. Every one of us has seen it."

The words landed, and Otto could no longer hold himself together. He buried his face in his hands and broke into helpless sobs.

"Once I've seen Cindy's mother to the end of her days, I'll go down and be with her. I miss her. God, I miss her so much!"

I stood frozen outside the door, the blood in my veins turning to ice in an instant, my chest hollowed out in a single breath.

So this was the truth. Five years together, and I'd been nothing more than a body for Otto to lie beside.

And the child I'd raised for five years, the one he called his little brother, was his own son with that dead first love.

From beginning to end, he'd carried the ghost of his idealized love in his heart. He'd never spared me even an inch of room.

If his obsession ran this deep, then there was no reason for a tool like me to keep cluttering his line of sight.

I dug up the messages from my mother, all the way over in Barcelona, and replied with trembling hands,

"Book me a flight for three days from now."

It was already past eleven at night when Otto came through the door.

"Why are the lights off?"

He startled a little at the sight of me sitting motionless on the sofa.

"Sign them."

I didn't answer. I just pointed at the divorce papers on the coffee table.

The air froze solid. Otto went silent.

I turned my head and looked at this face I'd shared five years with, a face that now made me sick to my stomach, and I lost control completely.

"Five years. You lied to me for five years! What was I to you? What was I ever?"

"You already know?"

Otto's expression shifted, again and again,

until finally he stopped bothering to hold it in place. He let out a long breath,

like a man peeling off a mask he'd worn far too long.

"Since you already know, there's no point hiding it anymore. Keeping up the act all these years has worn me out too."

He glanced again at the divorce papers on the table and let out a scornful laugh.

"Though it's a little laughable, you wanting a divorce. All these years you've had nothing and no one. I've carried you. How exactly would you live without me?"

"Not to mention"

"Not to mention what?" Tears welled in my eyes as I pressed him.

Otto looked at my wounded, grief-stricken face, and something like reluctance flickered deep in his eyes.

He turned away, walking straight toward the bedroom, his voice dropping low,

"Not to mention you've had three abortions. You can't have children anymore. Aside from me, what man would ever want you?"

"Beth, why bother holding a grudge against a dead woman? If you don't have the standing to throw a fit, then don't. You're not a young girl anymore."

The bedroom door slammed shut, a dull, heavy thud,

like a blunt knife dragging back and forth across my heart, the dull ache flooding through my whole body.

Three abortions.

He knew too. In less than a year, I'd had three abortions for him.

During those tender days with him, I'd been so eager, checking my temperature without fail every single day, timing my cycle to the hour, forcing down herbal medicine so bitter it turned my stomach.

My belly was a map of needle marks from the fertility shots. I'd given up hotpot, given up coffee, soaked my feet in water so scalding the skin turned an angry red.

All of it so I could carry his child sooner, so I could surprise him.

But every time I pressed a positive pregnancy test into his hands, beaming,

the first two times he explained it away, his face cold.

Beth, my career is still climbing. Now isn't the right time for a baby.

The third time, he finally didn't refuse.

But we couldn't dodge the accident. I was riding shotgun in Otto's car.

He took a call, said something urgent had come up, sped up, and not long after slammed into the car ahead.

When I came to, Otto was holding me and sobbing, swearing to me with eyes full of anguish,

Beth, this was my carelessness. We'll have another baby. I'll protect you for the rest of my life.

Looking at his face wrapped in bandages, I had no grounds left to blame him.

After that, the doctor declared the damage permanent. I would likely never conceive again.

And he did grow more attentive, more tender from then on.

What I never imagined was that all those years of careful comfort after I lost the baby

were nothing but indifference. Because his child had already been born long ago, to Cindy.

From behind the door of the guest room, Otto's voice rose as he answered the phone.

Mom, I'll be right there.

He hung up in a clipped, hurried tone, then turned to me with a furrowed brow, his voice forced into something softer.

I'm sorry, Beth. I was drunk and spoke too harshly just now.

Mom called. She said she found the diary Cindy kept before she left. I'm going to go look at it.

He paused, then added,

You've worked hard these past weeks. Set aside looking after Mom for now. Rest a few days.

His tone was easy, intimate, calling Cindy's mother Mom over and over.

As if those soul-cutting words, those brutal truths, had never been dragged into the light.

Back when Otto used to ache for me, an orphan with no parents at her side, he'd often tell me,

Beth, care for my mother as if she were your own. It'll make up for what you've missed.

I'd always thought it was his concern for me. Turns out he was only afraid I'd slack off in tending to his beloved's mother.

Otto. In your eyes, I was a tool from the very start, wasn't I

You truly don't have a shred of a heart.

But you're wrong. I have a mother.

Years ago, I ignored her objections and chose to stay in the country with Otto.

We fought bitterly over it, and in the years since we'd nearly stopped speaking.

Yet blood runs thicker than water. Not long ago, Mom invited me again to come live with her abroad.

Once, for Otto's sake, that offer hadn't moved me in the slightest.

This time, it was time to accept.

The flight was booked for three days out.

I'd packed my bags early.

In five years with Otto, every day swallowed up caring for his young brother and a gravely ill old woman,

there wasn't much in that closet that belonged to me.

Even when Otto walked in and saw the suitcase, barely twenty inches, he showed not a flicker of surprise.

Is that the things you packed for Mom? I knew you were sensible, Beth. You'd never make this too hard for me.

The caregiver I hired is clumsy, completely unreliable. I still need you.

The look he gave me lost some of its venom, scraping together a thin gesture of goodwill.

I won't be foolish enough to nurse your beloved's mother ever again.

I lifted my eyes and looked straight at him. Nothing was left in them but a dead, frozen stillness.

Otto looked as if he thought he'd misheard, staring at me, thrown.

What did you say? You handled every last detail of Mom's care before. You're walking away now, just like that? What am I supposed to do?

He paused, and his voice softened in a way I couldn't place.

Don't forget what you said the day your father died.

My head snapped up, my eyes locking onto his.

My heart felt like it was being sawed back and forth by a dull blade, the ache spreading through every inch of me.

All at once I remembered a night three years ago, the night of my car accident.

When I came to, the weak glow of the headlights showed me my father in the driver's seat, his body torn and bloody.

Stranded in the middle of nowhere with no signal, I'd lost every chance to call for help, and no matter what I tried, I couldn't get the door open.

I was trapped in that cabin reeking of blood for a full day and night,

forced to watch the blood drain from my father's body, drop by drop,

the terror and torment magnified beyond measure in that sealed, lightless space.

After the rescue crews arrived, I stayed unconscious for three whole days before I woke.

From then on I carried severe claustrophobia and a wound that never healed.

When I was drowning in the grief of losing the only family I had, it was Otto who held me and soothed me.

Don't be afraid, Beth. You still have my mother. Pour all that loss into caring for her. We'll look after her together, and everything will be all right.

Tears streamed down my face. I nodded hard and made him that promise.

That same year, the old woman's illness took a turn for the worse.

She had a fierce temper by nature, and every time I bathed her or cleaned her in her sickbed, she'd scowl at me,

bark orders, treat me with nothing but contempt.

Days like that went on for three years.

I'd thought about telling Otto how much I was suffering, but every time I remembered the words he'd said after my father died,

my tenderness for the old woman only deepened.

Yet now the truth told me that all the blood and devotion I'd poured out over those years had gone to the mother of the woman my husband loved.

And those so-called words of comfort, did Otto truly mean them to console me,

or was he using my devotion and my heart's labor to pour out all the love he felt for Cindy?

Otto, you have no right to bring up my father's death.

My throat tightened, and I forced out a bleak smile.

Even now that you know she's Cindy's mother, after living under the same roof with her all these years, don't you feel anything at all?

Otto knit his brows in reproach even as he shoved me into the wardrobe, his movements brutal.

Since you've forgotten the promise you made, then go back to where it all began and remember it properly.

As he turned the lock, his hand slowed.

Don't hold this against me, Beth. The dead deserve our respect. Cindy is gone, and caring for her mother is our duty now.

Beth, I won't hurt you. Once you've thought it through, I'll let you out.

As Otto's footsteps faded farther and farther away, nothing was left but dead silence.

The cramped space sent my heartbeat spiraling out of control, the familiar suffocation sweeping through me in an instant,

exactly like the despair of being trapped in that crushed cabin all those years ago.

Panic seized me until my whole body went rigid and convulsing, and on the edge of suffocation, all I could do was pound frantically at the door and beg for help.

I don't know how long passed before soft footsteps came from outside the wardrobe,

sounding like Dylan Henson, the child I'd loved for five years.

Dylan, get someone to help me out.

The plea left me on instinct.

Beyond the door it went quiet for a few seconds, and I could feel a small figure standing just outside the wardrobe,

but he made no move to help. Instead, he let out a sneering laugh.

Haha, the bad woman finally got punished! Grandma says you stole my mommy's place, so you're a bad woman!

The shrill, piercing child's voice was nothing like the warm, sweet one I knew.

I should have known. He was Cindy Simmons's child.

More than that, he was the living echo of every story Otto had ever told him, all the times he'd recited how deeply he loved the boy's mother.

Why would a child like that ever save me, the 'tool' who'd taken her place?

The words hung in the air, and the footsteps drifted further away.

That last sliver of hope died completely.

Otto knew the dark, closed space was lethal to me. He knew, and still he chose this exact method to break me into surrender.

As the light in front of my eyes faded, I lost consciousness entirely.

I don't know how long I was out before soft lips pressed against mine, coaxing me back from the dark one kiss at a time.

"Beth, you're finally awake."

"I'm sorry, Beth. I timed it carefully, I really thought nothing would happen. Let me make it up to you, alright?"

Otto was half-leaning over the edge of the bed, a trace of guilt in his eyes.

As he spoke, his hand settled at my waist, stroking, sliding outward.

I looked into those hazy, intoxicated eyes, and I never could have imagined his idea of an apology would be this vile.

A wave of nausea surged up in my throat.

I jerked my head aside, threw every ounce of strength into shoving him off me, my voice shaking.

"Don't touch me."

His hand stilled. "I already lowered myself to apologize. What more do you want?"

His breath came hot, edged with anger.

I put everything I had left into one slap across his face.

Otto froze for a long moment. When the heat finally cleared from him and he came back to his senses, he let out a cold laugh.

He pulled out his phone, opened our chat, and tapped.

One after another, the shrill chimes rang out. Ten thousand dollars received.

My defiance hung frozen in midair. I watched him finish the whole thing in one smooth motion.

Then he lowered his eyes and looked down at me.

"You took my money happily enough before. I sent you a little extra this time. Satisfied?"

The words cut like a blade, slicing through the last shred of false hope I'd been holding onto.

Every memory came rushing back at once, every transfer, every transaction. In his eyes I had never been anything more than a body to warm his bed.

The pain in my chest sharpened to the edge of numbness. A bone-deep cold, laced with despair, soaked through me.

I collapsed back onto the bed. I didn't even have the strength left to defend myself.

Then a knock at the door broke the standoff.

Otto rose and crossed to the door. The instant he pulled it open, his whole body went rigid.

Standing outside was Cindy.

"Otto, I'm home."

Seeing that face he'd longed for over five years, even his breathing came apart.

A few seconds of stunned silence passed before he slowly invited her in.

The look in his eyes as he gazed at her was flooded with the joy of getting back what he'd lost.

I forced my body upright and dragged my heavy steps toward the door, trying to see what was happening outside.

But Otto heard me move, and on instinct he blocked her line of sight, gesturing for Dylan to shut the bedroom door.

Sealing me out completely.

"Otto, I didn't mean to leave without a word back then... I just..."

Cindy's soft, choked voice came through from outside. She kept starting to speak and stopping, as if some unspoken hardship held her back.

And Otto, whose voice had carried such venom toward me moments ago, now soothed her with nothing but tenderness.

"Cindy, you're back, that's all that matters. There'll be plenty of time to explain everything else later."

Cindy lifted her head through her sobs and met Dylan's eager gaze.

"Mommy! Here, take a tissue, don't cry anymore. Dylan will stay with you from now on."

Looking at that little face, half a mirror of her own, Cindy turned to Otto in a daze.

"Our child? He's already this big?"

Otto heard those words, and as the memory of five long years of bitter waiting flooded back, the tears welling in his eyes spilled over.

The three of them clung together in the living room, weeping with joy, pouring out all the longing they'd held in.

Through the crack in the bedroom door, I watched it all, like someone bent on torturing herself.

The warmth out there only made me look like the perfect fool.

Before long, the laughter beyond the door faded.

A text from Otto lit up my phone.

"Get some rest. Cindy just got back. I'm going to show her around."

I sat frozen on the sofa, the sharp lingering trace of Cindy's perfume crawling into my nose.

As if to remind me the real one had returned.

And a meaningless body double should make her exit.

I picked up my suitcase and sat through the night by the door.

Waiting for dawn, scrolling through news from abroad to pass the time.

Then a tabloid pop-up appeared, and a familiar face made my fingertips go still.

Just as I meant to read through every page, Otto's frantic voice cut me off.

"Beth, I finally found you. I called you so many times. Why didn't you answer?"

He came striding in, his steps hurried.

I didn't understand. I lifted my eyes and looked at him, my face blank.

He noticed the exhaustion and grief in my eyes, and his tone softened a little.

"Cindy collapsed last night and was rushed to the hospital. I knew she had her reasons. She's gravely ill. She needs a full blood transfusion."

He paused, a flicker of reluctance crossing his eyes before the cold swallowed it again.

"I asked the doctor yesterday. Right now your blood type is the only real match. Help her."

I gathered every ounce of strength I had and dragged out a cold smile.

"Otto, are you sure your pure, untouchable first love is worth sacrificing this much for?"

I lifted my phone and turned the tabloid page toward him.

Gambling tycoon worth millions ruined overnight. His wife of five years fled the country under cover of darkness.

Left behind three children. The first woman to abandon husband and kids and run.

Beneath the glaring headline, Cindy's face was plastered, plain as day.

Once he'd taken it all in, the color drained from Otto's face. He bowed his head and said nothing.

His hands clenched so hard the nails nearly dug into his palms.

I thought his anger meant he'd finally come to his senses. But the next second he flung my phone aside and roared at me, his voice cracking.

"Enough!"

"All of this, I already know. She had her reasons for what happened back then. Why must you torment a sick woman?"

A tremor went through me. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

I looked up and saw nothing but obsession filling Otto's eyes. He lunged forward and gripped my shoulders, as if he'd lost all control.

"Beth, take it as me begging you. Just this once!"

"Cindy is the one I've longed for, yes, but you and I are already married. There's nothing left between her and me. You don't have to worry. I just don't want tolose her. As long as she'sall right."

Otto forced out the last of it, choking on sobs.

In that moment, total despair came crashing down and drowned me.

Five years of feeling, five years at his side, were nothing to Otto.

Worth less than Cindy, the woman who'd deceived and used him for years, with a past that wouldn't bear telling.

I summoned all my strength, raised my hand, and slapped him hard across the face.

The crisp crack rang through the empty living room.

Before he could react, I grabbed my suitcase and rushed out the door.

Sitting in the taxi, a video popped up on my phone.

On the screen, Otto bent down tenderly and pulled the lovely, fragile Cindy into his arms.

"Don't be afraid, Cindy. Beth's just throwing a tantrum. She has no parents, no one. Where could she possibly go?"

"The moment she's back, I'll arrange the surgery so she can give you the transfusion. I won't let anyone delay your treatment."

After the video came a string of voice messages from Cindy, her tone smug and crowing,

I saw all those transfers Otto sent you. If you ask me, a girl kept around for the bed ought to know her place and stop throwing tantrums all the time.

Otto even said if you don't come back in three days, he'll have someone drag you onto the operating table himself. Scared me half to death.

I opened them without meaning to, listened to the first two, and felt nothing but sick boredom.

I sent back one line: Don't waste your effort. Otto's all yours.

Then I tapped delete.