CHAPTER 5 – The Woman Wearing My Wife’s Ring
CHAPTER 5 – The Woman Wearing My Wife’s Ring
Andrew had spent three years looking at that ring.
Every morning.
Every night.
Every time Victoria sat across from him at dinner.
Every time she held his hand in public.
Every time she told the world she had helped him survive the darkest years of his life.
The ring had always been there.
A perfect diamond.
A symbol of loyalty.
A symbol of love.
A symbol of a future Andrew thought he had lost.
Now, standing in the middle of the nursery with Clara beside him, he realized something that made his stomach turn.
The ring had never belonged to Victoria.
It belonged to his wife.
"Take it off."
Andrew's voice was quiet.
But everyone heard him.
Victoria looked at him from the doorway.
For a second, she did not understand.
Then her eyes dropped to her hand.
To the diamond ring she had worn for three years.
Her face changed.
A tiny crack appeared in her perfect expression.
"Andrew..."
"Take it off."
The security officers standing behind her remained still.
But Daniel noticed.
He noticed everything.
Especially the fear.
Victoria slowly raised her hand.
"You are really going to believe her?"
She looked at Clara.
"A woman who appears after three years and claims she is your dead wife?"
Andrew did not answer.
Because that was not the question anymore.
The question was:
Why was Victoria wearing Clara's ring?
"I asked you to remove it."
Victoria laughed softly.
A desperate sound.
"You think a ring proves anything?"
"No."
Andrew stepped closer.
"But your reaction does."
The room became silent.
Victoria looked toward the boys.
Then back at Andrew.
"You are letting grief make you irrational."
Andrew's eyes hardened.
"No."
He glanced at Clara.
"Grief is what made me ignore the truth."
Those words hurt Clara.
Because she knew exactly what he meant.
For three years, Andrew had been living inside the story someone created for him.
And he had believed it because believing was easier than questioning.
Victoria looked at Clara.
"You ruined everything."
Clara remained calm.
"You ruined it yourself."
Victoria's expression turned cold.
"You always were too soft."
Andrew immediately noticed.
Too soft.
A strange choice of words.
As if Victoria had known Clara before.
"How do you know what she is like?"
Andrew asked.
Victoria froze.
"What?"
"You speak about her like you know her."
"No."
Victoria answered too quickly.
"I mean..."
She corrected herself.
"I know the kind of woman she pretends to be."
Andrew stared.
The lie was becoming obvious.
"Where did you get the ring?"
He asked.
Victoria said nothing.
"Answer me."
Finally, she whispered:
"Thomas gave it to me."
The room went completely silent.
Clara looked down.
Pain crossed her face.
Andrew felt anger rising.
"My brother gave you my wife's ring?"
Victoria nodded slowly.
"He said Clara wouldn't need it anymore."
Andrew's hands curled into fists.
Because those words meant one thing.
Thomas knew Clara was alive.
Later that afternoon, Andrew ordered every file connected to the fire to be brought into his office.
Every report.
Every photograph.
Every witness statement.
Every piece of evidence.
Clara sat across from him.
Not as a maid.
Not as a stranger.
As the woman who had once shared his life.
"I need to ask you something."
Andrew said.
Clara looked up.
"Anything."
"When did you know Victoria was involved?"
Clara was silent.
Then:
"The first day I saw her."
Andrew frowned.
"What?"
"When I returned to the city."
"I saw her leaving the cemetery."
Andrew froze.
"The cemetery?"
"Your cemetery."
Clara looked down.
"The day you buried me."
Andrew closed his eyes.
The memory returned.
The rain.
The flowers.
Victoria standing beside him.
Comforting him.
But he never noticed Clara.
"Why didn't you come to me?"
Clara looked at him.
"Because she saw me."
A cold feeling moved through him.
"She saw you?"
Clara nodded.
"She looked directly at me."
"She knew I survived."
Andrew stood.
"Then why didn't she tell me?"
Clara gave him a painful smile.
"Because if you knew I was alive..."
A pause.
"She would lose everything."
Meanwhile, across the city, Victoria sat alone inside a private apartment.
No makeup.
No perfect smile.
No elegant dress.
Only anger.
The woman who had spent years pretending to be powerless was finally showing who she was.
She threw a glass against the wall.
It shattered.
"She should have died."
The man sitting across from her remained calm.
Thomas Whitmore.
"You made mistakes."
Victoria glared.
"I did what you asked."
"No."
Thomas corrected.
"You did what you wanted."
Victoria stood.
"You promised me Andrew would be mine."
Thomas smiled coldly.
"And he was."
"Until she came back."
Thomas looked out the window.
"The problem was never Clara."
Victoria frowned.
"What?"
"The problem was Andrew."
She looked confused.
"He always loved her."
Thomas's voice became darker.
"And some people cannot accept losing."
That night, Andrew sat beside the boys' beds.
Like he used to before the fire.
Noah was asleep.
Ethan was holding an old stuffed bear.
Clara stood at the door.
Watching.
"You always did that."
Andrew looked back.
"Did what?"
"Sat there until they fell asleep."
A small smile appeared.
"I don't remember stopping."
Clara looked away.
The sadness between them was heavy.
"Andrew."
"Yes?"
"Do you hate me?"
The question surprised him.
"What?"
"For disappearing."
Andrew stared.
Then slowly shook his head.
"No."
"But you lost three years with them."
"I lost three years because someone stole them."
A pause.
"Not because you left."
Clara looked at him.
And for the first time since returning...
She believed him.
Suddenly, Andrew's phone rang.
Daniel.
He answered immediately.
"What happened?"
Daniel's voice was tense.
"Mr. Whitmore..."
"Someone broke into the old family storage room."
Andrew stood.
"What was taken?"
A pause.
"Nothing."
"Then why call me?"
Daniel hesitated.
"Because they didn't steal anything."
Andrew waited.
"They left something."
"What?"
Daniel's voice lowered.
"A photograph."
Andrew felt uneasy.
"Of what?"
"The night of the fire."
Andrew's grip tightened around the phone.
"Send it."
Seconds later, the image arrived.
He opened it.
And stopped breathing.
The photograph showed the house burning.
Smoke.
Firefighters.
Chaos.
But in the corner...
A person was standing outside.
Watching.
Andrew zoomed in.
His face turned pale.
Because the person in the photograph was not Thomas.
Not Victoria.
It was Andrew himself.
Wearing the same suit he wore that night.
Holding the same security access card.
Standing near the room where the fire started.
Clara looked at the screen.
Her face lost all color.
"No..."
Andrew looked at her.
"What?"
She whispered:
"That's impossible."
"Why?"
"Because..."
Her voice shook.
"I remember who was standing there."
Andrew stared.
"Who?"
Clara looked at him.
"You."
The room went silent.
And for the first time since Clara returned...
Andrew wondered if the person who destroyed his family...
Was not someone else.
May you like
But himself.
End of Chapter 5
