My Husband Says I Died Three Years Ago
A TaleDale Story · Story concept by Nora Ashwick
The memory card held one video.
Julian inserted it into an old laptop while I closed the apartment blinds. Celeste remained on speaker, breathing unevenly.
“Tell me before I watch,” I said.
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
“Try.”
“You chose me because your mother trusted your face. You said I could enter rooms, sign papers, and stand beside Julian without anyone questioning me.”
“Why would you agree?”
“Because Vivian owned the clinic that repaired my face after the fire. She owned my medical debt. She owned my brother’s license. Then you offered to erase all of it.”
“In exchange for my life.”
“In exchange for a role.”
“How long were you supposed to play me?”
Celeste was quiet.
“One year,” she finally said. “Long enough to keep Vivian from searching for Anna. But after one year, you never returned.”
“So you kept my husband.”
“Julian kept a separate bedroom. He counted the days. Do you want me to apologize because eventually I stopped counting with him?”
The honesty hurt more than a lie.
“Did he ever love you?”
Julian reached for the phone, but Celeste answered first.
“Ask him why he renewed our vows four months ago.”
I looked at his bare hand. A pale band marked the skin where a ring had recently been removed.
“You said the marriage was part of my plan.”
“The first ceremony was,” Julian said.
“And the second?”
His silence gave Celeste the victory she wanted.
“It wasn’t a renewal,” Julian said finally. “Vivian staged a charity photograph. Celeste called it vows because she knew you might hear about it.”
“You still stood beside her.”
“Because leaving her would have exposed the plan.”
Celeste laughed softly. “Notice that he explains the photograph, Elena. He doesn’t answer the question.”
“Play the video,” she whispered. “Then ask which wife he was protecting when he followed you to the lake.”
Julian clicked the file.
The video showed the lake house kitchen on September fifteenth, 2023. I stood beside the table wearing the red scarf from the locker. Celeste sat across from me, her face partly bandaged.
There was a man between us.
Dr. Bell.
He looked younger without gray in his hair, but there was no mistaking him. He placed passports, cash, and three phones on the table.
The recording had no sound.
I watched my past self point toward Celeste, then toward photographs of my face. Dr. Bell shook his head. I struck the table. Celeste began crying.
“He performed the surgery,” I said.
“His real name is Gabriel Wynn,” Celeste replied. “He is my brother.”
On screen, Gabriel pushed back his chair and headed for the door. I caught his sleeve. He pulled away. We struggled through the kitchen and onto the deck.
The camera angle changed automatically.
Rain fell across the lake. Gabriel backed toward the railing. I advanced with something in my hand.
The broken watch.
I threw it at him. He caught it instinctively. Then I shoved him.
He went over the railing and disappeared into the water.
The woman on screen stood motionless for eleven seconds.
I waited for her to reach for him.
She did not.
She turned away.
“You said we killed someone,” I whispered.
“That was what you believed,” Celeste said.
“He’s alive.”
“Now.”
Julian paused the video. “Gabriel told me he was injured in a boating accident.”
“He lied.”
“Everyone in this story lies.”
I replayed the fall. Just before I pushed Gabriel, he glanced beyond me toward the kitchen window. Fear crossed his face—not fear of me, but of someone behind me.
I enlarged the frame.
A pale shape reflected in the glass. A woman stood inside the kitchen holding a gun at her side.
My mother.
“Vivian was there,” I said.
Celeste stopped breathing.
“She told me she arrived after the car entered the lake.”
“She lied to you too.”
The video continued. After Gabriel fell, I returned to the kitchen. My mother stepped away from the window. We argued. Then she raised the gun and fired.
There was no sound, but my body jerked.
I fell beside the table.
Celeste screamed through the phone. “That isn’t the file I saw.”
“What was different?” Julian asked.
“Vivian wasn’t in it. Elena pushed Gabriel, then drove away.”
Someone had altered her copy.
The recording showed my mother kneeling beside me, checking my pulse. Gabriel climbed over the deck railing behind her, soaked and limping. He was alive.
He entered the kitchen and stared at my body.
Then he did something I did not understand.
He took the gun from my mother, wiped it clean, and pressed it into my hand.
The apartment door opened behind us.
Dr. Bell—Gabriel Wynn—stood there holding the same gun.
“Turn off the video,” he said. “Your mother is not the person you should fear in that room.”