Seven Years Married To Find Another Man In My Place

My workaholic wife had finally agreed to spend the holidays with my family. The sheer elation of it had me booking the first flight that night. Seven years of “emergency meetings” and “non-negotiable deadlines” had given way to a sliver of hope, and I clung to it like a life raft. But by midnight at the airport gate, she was still a no-show. Minutes before boarding closed, the familiar text arrived. “Apologies, babe. Emergency exec meeting called last minute with the partners. Non-negotiable. Next year, I promise, we’ll spend the holidays with your folks.” I didn’t get angry. I just felt the familiar, dull thud of disappointment and typed a simple “Okay.” I decided to fly out anyway and pay my respects to her parents, the Martins, in her close-knit, upstate hometown of Pine Ridge. When I arrived that evening, lugging bags full of artisanal cheeses and imported wine, I stood on the Martins’ porch and heard my father-in-law’s booming laugh from inside. “Another round, Son? Come on, my Son-in-Law!”

The bags of holiday gifts slammed onto the porch. Crash. The noise must have carried through the door, startling the neighbors who were already milling about. The front door swung open and a young man poked his head out. “What the hell?” His tone was immediately aggressive. He pointed a finger at me, already launching into a tirade. “The hell are you doing lurking around someone’s house on Christmas Eve? Trying to steal something?” I knew him. The face was too familiar. He was a college kid, Travis Stone, that Skylar and I had interviewed when MooreTech was just starting. Skylar wanted to pass on him; his resume was weak. I had argued for him, citing his high emotional intelligence. I’d convinced her to hire him. My father-in-law’s voice echoed again from inside. “Son, who is it? Finish up and get back in here. Dinner’s getting cold.” “Got it, Dad. Be right there.” Travis smiled, turning to answer. I opened my mouth, but the word—Son-in-Law—still rang in my ears. It wasn’t meant for me. It was clearly meant for him. Seeing my silence, Travis grew impatient, stepping forward. “I asked you a question. Do you know whose house this is? Do you know who you’re talking to?” He puffed out his chest, a sickening mix of smugness and arrogance replacing his initial irritation. “My wife is Skylar Moore, CEO of MooreTech! Get lost, or I’m calling the cops!” I had been bracing myself, but hearing her name on his lips still felt like a physical punch. The freezing air burned my throat. My voice was dry, a sandpaper rasp. “You said Skylar Moore is your wife?” “Damn right!” I lifted my head, forcing the boiling rage down into a cold, hard knot. I met his eyes. “What a coincidence. Because I am Skylar Moore’s legal, notarized, seven-years-and-counting husband.” Travis laughed, a sharp, dismissive sound, as if I’d just told a terrible joke. “Who doesn’t know that the Martins’ golden boy, the Son-in-Law, is me, Travis Stone? Where did a scrub like you crawl out of, trying to pull a stunt like this?” His voice was loud, ensuring the cluster of neighbors who’d gathered due to the commotion could hear. They started murmuring. “Who is that guy? Causing a scene on Christmas Eve?” “The Martins’ son-in-law is little Travis, right? He’s here every year, we all know him!” “Unbelievable. Some people will try to exploit the rich any way they can. Impersonating a husband now?” The neighbors’ comments were like needles dipped in ice. For seven years, every holiday, every family event, she’d claimed to be too busy—critical partners, emergency projects. I’d always believed her, felt sorry for her relentless schedule, even poured money into her company to ease the burden. I’d quietly invested at least $15 million, creating and patenting ninety percent of the core technology that built MooreTech. Yet, she was always too busy for me. And now I knew why. She hadn’t been working; she’d been here, playing house with her lover. Travis looked at me with open scorn. “You pathetic wannabe. You think you can swagger around here? I can make one call, and MooreTech will make sure your family loses everything.” My family. For Skylar’s dream, I had put my own life on hold, refusing to inherit the Graham Group, choosing to work anonymously from our home office, pouring my genius and my capital into lifting MooreTech into a major player. And now this little sneak, a mid-level manager’s kid, was using my company to threaten me. All reason snapped. I lunged forward. My fist slammed into the center of his arrogant face. A sickening thud and Travis cried out, stumbling back and hitting the doorframe. Blood instantly gushed from his nose. “He’s hitting him!” a neighbor shrieked. “He attacked our Martins’ son-in-law! Get him out of here!” Several men who had clearly been drinking their Christmas punch rushed forward, yelling. “Everyone on him! Get this troublemaker out! Protect Travis!” Four or five guys swarmed me. Fists flew, someone grabbed my arm. I was quickly overpowered and pinned to the cold ground. Travis, his eyes red and his face already swelling, grabbed a rusty snow shovel propped against the wall. “You’re going to regret that, asshole!” He raised the shovel high over his head, ready to bring it down. Just then, the commotion brought the rest of the occupants rushing out. The moment Skylar saw me, her face went utterly, terrifyingly pale. “Spencer Graham! What are you doing here?!” That gasp stopped Travis mid-swing. Skylar stood there, frozen. Mr. and Mrs. Martin—my in-laws—stumbled out behind her, faces flushed with wine. I didn’t answer. I just looked at her, then at the stunned faces of her parents. My mother-in-law frowned, studying me critically. “Who is this man, Skylar? Fighting on our doorstep? Do you know him?” My father-in-law, his face suddenly stern, glanced at me, pinned on the ground. His voice was laced with menace. “Some piece of trash causing trouble at the Martin home?” I managed a choked, hoarse laugh. “Seven years. Are you so forgetful, old man, that you don’t recognize your own son-in-law? Did the gourmet holiday baskets I sent you every year just get thrown out with the garbage?” My mother-in-law’s eyes widened, a flicker of memory passing through them, but she quickly masked it with outrage. “Stop your nonsense! We have never met you! Don’t you dare try to claim kin here!” My father-in-law instantly backed her up, pointing at me for the neighbors. “We only have one son-in-law, Travis! He comes every year; you all know him! This man? We’ve never seen him before in our lives!” “Hear that, trash?” one of the men holding me down sneered. “The Martins don’t even know you. You have no shame, man.” Skylar’s face was a mottled mix of red and white. She finally spoke, her voice strained. “Spencer, just leave. We can talk about this later.” “Later?” I wrenched against the men holding me, forcing them to tighten their grip. I stared up at her, my eyes blazing. “Right now. In front of everyone. Tell me the truth. Am I, Spencer Graham, your husband or not?” Skylar’s lips trembled. Her gaze darted everywhere but to mine. She couldn’t speak. The neighbors exchanged nervous glances, their murmuring growing louder. The deadlock was broken by a child’s high-pitched cry. “Bad man! Don’t you dare hurt my Mommy and Daddy!” A little boy, maybe five or six, rushed out of the house, scrambling into Travis’s arms. He turned and spread his tiny arms wide, trying to shield Travis and Skylar. He glared at me. “You’re a bad man! Go away! Don’t touch my Mommy and Daddy!” Mommy and Daddy? I stared blankly at the child, then slowly turned my stiff neck to Skylar. She instinctively pulled the boy tight into her embrace, burying her face in his small shoulder. “It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s here. Mommy’s here…” Skylar had told me she was infertile. That she couldn’t carry a child. Looking at the boy’s face, so strikingly like hers, I let out a cold, hollow sound that might have been a laugh. She wasn’t infertile. She just couldn’t have children with me. The neighbors, emboldened by Skylar’s hesitation, grew bolder in their whispers. “No way. Is Skylar actually cheating? This man tracked her down?” “Must be. Little Travis is a good man, and they have a child! How could Skylar do this?” “The Martin girl always seemed so respectable. Tsk. You never know what people are like behind closed doors.” Hearing the gossip, the Martins’ faces turned the color of bruised plums. Mrs. Martin shrieked, pointing her finger right at my nose. “Silence! What are you all saying?! My Skylar is a respectable woman!” Her chest heaved, and she pointed at me again. “This man is a liar! He’s a nobody! He drives a faded, old Volvo, for God’s sake! My daughter is the CEO of MooreTech. Why would she ever look twice at a loser like him?” Mr. Martin stepped forward, his voice vicious. “Look at this little opportunist. Clearly trying to break up a family. Travis is our real son-in-law—the son of a major MooreTech partner! Young and rich! Nobody would choose this bum over him!” They piled on the insults, tearing me down while elevating Travis to the heavens. But one line snagged in my mind. The son of a major partner? Every major partner MooreTech had was a subsidiary of the Graham Group, my family’s empire. None of them were named Stone. Before I could process the thought, Skylar’s face had reached a fever pitch of panic. The gossip and her parents’ hysterical defense had pushed her to the wall. She suddenly lifted her head, making a clear decision. She thrust the little boy into her mother’s arms, pointed at me, and shouted: “Spencer Graham! Are you done yet?! How many times have I told you? We are finished!” “I have a family now—a husband, a son! Can you stop chasing me around like a crazy ex? Is this pathetic stalking really worth it? Have you no shame at all?” Travis, who had been listening, first looked confused, then a triumphant realization dawned on him. He rushed over, his arm swinging wide, and delivered a sharp, cracking slap across my face. CRACK! My cheek stung with fire, and my ears rang. Travis pointed at my nose, spittle flying. He looked righteous, furious. “So, you’re the pathetic loser Skylar mentioned! The obsessive ex who wouldn’t leave her alone! I heard she had some worthless guy constantly harassing her, but I didn’t know it was this bad! You have the audacity to show up here?! I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t forget!” He was truly enraged now. He lifted his foot and kicked me hard in the ribs. The force of the blow felt like my internal organs had shifted. I coughed, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ground. I gathered all my remaining strength and struggled, finally breaking free from the men holding me. “Skylar! If Travis is your husband, then show everyone your marriage license! Let’s see the certificate!” To my surprise, Travis didn’t look panicked. He adjusted the collar I’d messed up with my punch, then reached into his car, pulled out a document, and threw it with a slap at my feet. “Open your pathetic eyes and look.” “This is our marriage license. Stamped by the State Registrar. What more do you need to see, huh?” My own marriage license with Skylar was a special issue I’d secured using my family’s influence. I knew it couldn’t be duplicated. That meant this one was fake. I looked up and sneered. “Skylar. You’re willing to forge a state document to keep this lie going?” I gestured to the red booklet. “How about we drive down to the Precinct right now? Let’s have it authenticated on the spot.” “Fine! I’m not scared of you!” Travis shouted, but I saw a faint, fleeting flicker of nervousness deep in his eyes. Just then, the wail of approaching sirens cut through the tense silence. Two police cruisers screeched to a halt outside the gate. A few officers stepped out. The one in charge, Chief Reynolds, frowned at the chaos and the mob of people. “What is going on here? Who called this in? A public brawl on Christmas?” Mr. Martin hurried over, already offering the Chief a cigarette with practiced ease. “Chief Reynolds! Ah, you shouldn’t have been bothered. Nothing to worry about. Just some lunatic causing trouble at our family gathering. A small misunderstanding! Nothing more!” The Chief took the cigarette and looked toward Skylar, his demeanor softening. “Mr. Martin, it’s the holiday season. The brass is making rounds. Keep it quiet.” My heart sank. That familiarity—the relationship was clearly compromised. While the attention was on the police, I gritted my teeth against the pain and fumbled in my pocket. With my non-dominant hand, I quickly tapped out a message with my location to Damon Lewis, my father’s Chief of Staff. A young officer walked over to me. “What’s the problem? Why were you fighting?” I took a shaky breath, trying to sound calm. I pointed to the fake license on the ground. “Officer, I am Spencer Graham, Skylar Moore’s legal husband. This man, Travis Stone, has been having a long-term affair with my wife, forged a marriage license, and just committed assault and battery against me. I demand that you authenticate that document and press charges.” Before I finished, Chief Reynolds ambled over, picked up the license, flipped through it casually, and glanced at Travis. Travis gave him a quick, meaningful nod. The Chief snapped the license shut, tossed it back to Travis, and turned to me, his voice oozing disdain. “Nonsense. I’ve seen enough of these things. It looks genuine. Son, I think you’re the one causing trouble. Trying to shake down the successful CEO for money, aren’t you?” My last shred of hope dissolved. They were bought. “You won’t even follow basic protocol! You determine its authenticity with a glance? That’s corruption!” I spat out. “Watch your tone!” Chief Reynolds thundered, pointing at me. “You’re asking for trouble! Cuff him! Take him back to the station. We’ll figure out what a disruptive individual like you is doing here, stirring up lies!” Two officers moved forward to grab my arms. “Chief, Chief, easy now.” Travis stepped forward, a phony look of concern on his face. “It’s just a domestic issue. No need to bring the full weight of the law on him. We’ll handle it in-house. I’ll stop by the station later to thank you personally.” Chief Reynolds waved his hand dismissively. “Fine. If it’s family business, handle it. We’ll wait down the road.” He gave me a pointed look and, with the other officers, got back into the cruisers. As soon as the police left, the atmosphere in the yard changed instantly. The neighbors, having seen the police confirm the license and side with the man who knew the Chief, looked at me with open contempt. Travis cracked his knuckles and walked toward me. Skylar followed. “Spencer, I warned you. You chose to humiliate yourself. Don’t blame us for what happens next.” Mr. Martin spat on the ground near my head. “Worthless pig. Almost shamed my daughter! Get out of here!” Mrs. Martin chimed in with cruel glee: “Skylar, Travis! What is there to say to him? Just teach him that he can’t cross the Martins!” “Hear that?” Travis seized my collar and dragged me roughly to the center of the yard. “The in-laws have spoken. Today, I teach you respect!” Before I could brace myself, a heavy fist landed squarely in my abdomen. I doubled over in pain, and he brought his knee up, smashing it into my face. Blood sprayed instantly. My vision turned red. “That one’s for Skylar! For harassing and stalking her like a parasite!” “This kick is for me! For daring to lay a hand on me, you bastard!” His blows rained down—brutal but calculated to hurt without killing. “And this one is for my son! For trying to destroy his happy home!” As Travis stepped back, winded, and I tried to push myself up, Skylar walked over. She ground the sharp toe of her stiletto heel down onto my outstretched fingers. A searing, gut-wrenching agony escaped my throat in a strangled cry. “Does that hurt, Spencer?” she asked softly, looking down at me. “For seven years, I watched you pretend to be a homebody doing ‘research,’ acting like you sacrificed everything for me. It made me sick. Love doesn’t pay the bills.” Mr. Martin walked over and spat a thick wad of phlegm next to my head. “Hmph. A man who drives an old Volvo? You didn’t deserve my daughter. You should have been gone years ago!” Travis, exhausted from the beating, signaled the two men who had held me earlier. “Get him on his feet.” They dragged me up, every part of me screaming in pain. Travis stood close, patting my bloodied, swollen cheek with his hand. “See the police? If I say the certificate is real, it’s real. If I say you’re a trespasser, you’re a trespasser. I could leave you broken in this yard, and I’d still walk away clean.” Watching his smug, delusional arrogance, I managed a slow, cold smile. The timing was right. Since the day I was born, no one had dared to be this brazen with me. I was curious to see how many legs he had left to stand on. “What the hell are you laughing at?” Seeing my smile, Travis grabbed my collar and violently slammed the back of my head against the wall. My vision flashed white, then a spreading crimson. “You will regret this…” My voice was weak, but I forced my eyes up to his. Travis looked down with scorn, chuckling. “Ha! I regret? How could I possibly—” He stopped mid-sentence. His eyes went wide as he stared over my head. The rest of his sentence caught in his throat. I smiled again. “Are you sure?”