3. Karlie
— ? —
Karlie
I dress carefully.
Don’t cry, Helen. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.
He’s never said anything like that to me. Not once in three years of marriage.
The lunch I packed is in a bag on the passenger seat: grilled chicken salad, the one thing he’ll actually eat at his desk, plus the chocolate chip cookies Mrs. Potts made this morning. Thoughtful wife. Devoted partner. Definitely not a woman who’s running on caffeine and heartbreak.
The lobby of Hunt Industries is all glass and marble. The receptionist recognizes me and waves me through with a strained smile.
The elevator takes forever. I check my reflection in the mirrored doors and see exactly what I want to see: a woman who belongs here.
The executive floor is all hushed voices and expensive carpeting. William’s office is at the end of the hall, past the assistants and junior executives, and every one of them looks up when they see me. Their gazes slide away quickly, too quickly.
They know something. Everyone in this building knows something.
William’s assistant is stationed outside his door. She’s young and efficient, and her smile is strained when she sees me.
“Mrs. Hunt. I didn’t know you were coming in today.”
“Surprise visit.” I hold up the bag. “Brought William lunch.”
“Oh.” She glances at the closed office door, and I catch the flicker of warning in her eyes. “He’s actually in a meeting right now. Maybe you could wait…”
“I’m his wife. I’m sure he can spare five minutes.”
I don’t wait for her response. I turn the handle and push the door open.
William is standing behind his desk. Helen is in his arms, her face pressed against his chest, her fingers clutching his shirt. He’s holding her, one hand on her back, murmuring something I can’t quite hear.
They spring apart when the door opens.
For just a second, I see triumph flash in Helen’s eyes before she arranges her face into wounded surprise.
“Karlie.” William’s voice is rough. “What are you doing here?”
“Bringing my husband lunch.” I hold up the bag, keeping my voice light. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Why is she here?” Helen’s voice climbs, and she turns to William, clutching his arm. “William, I can’t grieve with her staring at me. She’s never liked me. I feel unsafe.”
I look at her, at the perfect mascara and the artful quiver in her chin and the dry eyes underneath it all. Then I smile.
“You cry beautifully, Helen. Not a drop wasted.”
Her eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”
“Just an observation.” I walk past both of them and set the lunch bag on William’s desk with deliberate care.
“Your technique is really quite impressive. The trembling lip, the clutching hands, the way you manage to position yourself directly in front of my husband’s chest every single time you’re upset.
It takes real skill to look that devastated without smudging your eyeliner. ”
“I don’t know what you’re implying…”
“I’m not implying anything. I’m saying it directly.
” I turn to face her fully, keeping my voice pleasant, conversational.
“You’re performing. You’ve been performing for four months, and you’re very good at it.
But your mascara is intact, Helen. Your lipstick is perfect.
For someone who’s been sobbing on my husband’s chest, you look remarkably put together. ”
Helen’s face flushes. She turns to William, her hand tightening on his arm. “Are you going to let her talk to me like this? After everything I’ve been through?”
“Karlie.” William’s voice is tight. “That’s enough.”
“Is it?” I fold my arms across my chest. “I haven’t even gotten started.”
“She’s grieving,” William says flatly. “She was Logan’s girlfriend for seven years. She’s allowed to be upset.”
“Of course she is. And I’m sure she is upset, somewhere underneath all that performance.” I look at Helen. “But I’m also your wife, William. And I’ve been upset for four months while you’ve been too busy comforting her to notice.”
Helen makes a soft sound, wounded and theatrical. “I should go. I don’t want to cause problems between you two. I just came here because I needed support, and Will has always been so understanding…”
“Will has always been what?” I turn on her. “Yours? Is that what you were going to say? Because he’s not yours, Helen. He made vows to me. He wears a ring that matches mine. And I am so tired of watching you act like none of that exists.”
“I have never…”
“You have always.” I keep my voice calm, measured.
“Every phone call at midnight. Every emergency that only William can solve. Every time you show up at our house or his office or anywhere else, needing him, demanding his attention, inserting yourself into our marriage like you belong there.” I smile at her.
“It’s exhausting, honestly. I don’t know how you keep it up. ”
Helen’s composure cracks, and the real her surfaces, fury and calculation and naked hatred, one raw flash of it. Then it’s gone, smoothed over with another wounded expression.
“William,” she says, her voice trembling. “I can’t listen to this. She’s attacking me, and I don’t understand why. I’ve only ever tried to be nice to her…”
“You have never tried to be nice to me.” I laugh, and it sounds sharp even to my own ears. “You’ve tolerated me. You’ve condescended to me. You’ve made it clear from the moment we met that you think I don’t belong in this family. But nice? No. That’s not a word I’d use.”
“Karlie.” William steps forward, putting himself between me and Helen. “I said that’s enough. Helen came to me because she’s struggling, because she doesn’t have anyone else to turn to, and you’re standing here tearing her apart. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you need to stop.”
“What’s gotten into me?” I stare at him.
“What’s gotten into me is that I found her scarf in your pocket last night.
What’s gotten into me is that I heard you on the phone with her at 4 a.m., whispering things you’ve never said to me.
And my husband forgot our anniversary because he was too busy with her to remember he has a wife. ”
“That’s not fair…”
“None of this is fair, William.” My voice rises despite my best efforts.
“I have been patient. I have been understanding. I have watched you disappear into your grief and your family obligations and whatever the hell this is with Helen, and I have waited for you to come back to me. But you haven’t.
You just keep pulling further away, and she keeps pulling you closer, and I’m standing here wondering when exactly I became invisible in my own marriage. ”
William’s face goes hard. “Karlie. Give us a minute.”
The words hit harder than shouting would have.
Give us a minute. Us. Him and Helen. Not him and me.
“Give you a minute,” I repeat slowly. “You want me to leave. So you can comfort her. In private.”
“I want you to calm down before you say something you’ll regret.”
“The only thing I regret is bringing you lunch.” I leave the bag where it sits. “Enjoy your meeting, William. I’m sure you have a lot to discuss.”
I turn and walk out of the office.
I make it maybe ten steps down the hall before I hear his footsteps behind me.
“Karlie. Stop.”
I keep walking. The elevator bank is ahead, and if I can just get there, I can fall apart in private.
He catches up to me and grabs my arm, pulling me to a halt. “Would you just listen…”
“Don’t touch me.” I yank my arm free and spin to face him. We’re standing in the middle of the hallway, and I can see heads turning, people pretending not to watch. I don’t care. “You don’t get to dismiss me in front of her and then chase me down the hall like nothing happened.”
“I’m trying to talk to you.”
“Now you want to talk? Now, when there’s an audience?” I square up in front of him. “Where was this energy last night, William? Where was this energy four months ago?”
“I’ve been dealing with…”
“With Logan. I know. Your brother is missing, your family is falling apart, everyone’s grieving.
” I take a step closer, lowering my voice.
“But so am I, William. When was the last time you asked how I was doing? In four months of this nightmare, when was the last time you checked on your wife instead of running to Helen?”
His jaw tightens. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it? You keep saying that. ‘That’s not fair, Karlie. She’s grieving, Karlie. She needs support, Karlie.’ What about what I need? What about the fact that I’ve been sitting alone in that house for months, waiting for my husband to notice I’m still here?”
“I haven’t forgotten you…”
“Haven’t you?” I laugh, and it sounds bitter. “When was the last time you slept in our bed? When was the last time we had dinner together? When was the last time you looked at me, really looked at me, and saw your wife instead of an obligation?”
He doesn’t answer.
“That’s what I thought.” I shake my head.
“You lost your brother. I understand that. I’m grieving for Logan too, he was the only person in your family who was ever kind to me.
But I’m also losing my husband. Every day, a little more.
And you know what the difference is?” I step closer, my voice dropping.
“Nobody’s hired detectives to find my husband. Nobody’s even looking.”
The words hit him. I watch them land, watch him absorb the impact.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” he says finally, his voice rough. “I’m doing the best I can.”
“Then do better.” I’m shaking now, fury and grief mixing until I can barely hold my voice steady.
“I want you to act like you still have a wife. I want you to come home at a reasonable hour and sleep in our bed and remember that I’m not just some inconvenience you have to work around.
I want to stop competing with her for you. Just once, I want to win.”
He opens his mouth to respond, and the elevator dings behind me.
I turn and stab the button. The doors open immediately, and I step inside.
“Karlie…”
“I’m done talking.” I hold up my hand to stop him from following. “You made your choice.”
The doors close on his face.
I lean against the wall and close my eyes. My hands are shaking. My whole body is shaking. I can feel the tears burning behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Not in this building. Not where any of his people might see me break and report it back upstairs.
The elevator descends.
When the doors open on the lobby, Helen is waiting.
She must have taken the private elevator. She’s standing there, perfectly composed, her mascara somehow still flawless, the lunch bag dangling from her manicured fingers.
“You forgot this.” She holds it out with a bright, empty smile. “He never eats what you make anyway.”
I stare at her. At the bag. At the smug satisfaction barely hidden beneath her sympathetic expression.
I take the bag from her hand. Then I step closer, close enough that no one else can hear.
“Seven years,” I say quietly. “You were with Logan for seven years, and he didn’t even say goodbye to you. Just vanished. No note, no call, nothing.” I watch her smile falter. “That must keep you up at night.”
The color drains from her face.
I drop the bag in the nearest trash can and walk out of the building without looking back.