The Widow Game You Started

Our wedding day. My fiancé, Harrison Kent, was killed in a catastrophic car crash on his way to pick me up. I became a widow before I could say “I do.” The child I was carrying became the Kent heir, an orphan before birth. The shock shattered me. I descended into a darkness I couldn’t escape, grappling with a severe depression that whispered suicide into my ear countless times. Everyone, including my mother-in-law, pleaded with me to cling to life for the sake of the baby. The funeral was a blur. The only thing that pierced the fog was the arrival of his elder brother, who flew back from his work overseas. He had the exact same eyes, the same sharp jawline as Harry. Watching him, I kept slipping into a daze, confusing the living with the dead. It was during one of these moments of confused grief, standing outside my mother-in-law’s bedroom, that I heard them talking. “You faked your death and ditched your wedding for this woman? And you let Stella believe she was a widow and put her life at risk? The child she’s carrying is yours, Harrison! You staged this entire charade just so you could bring that… that forbidden obsession home?” The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Finally, the soft, low voice of my “brother-in-law” drifted out. “Zara has maybe six months left, tops. The doctors confirmed the diagnosis. This is her only wish. Once those six months are up, Stella will have given birth, and everything will go back to normal. We’ll be a happy family of three, just as planned.” In that instant, the world stopped spinning, and the fog lifted with brutal clarity. My husband was not dead. The man I’d been seeing for the last two weeks, the man with his sympathetic eyes and shared DNA, was Harrison Kent! I fought a violent shudder, gripping the edge of the hallway table. Stumbling back to my room, I fumbled for my phone and sent a text to my own brother, Jake, who worked in high-level private security overseas. “Jake, I need you to arrange an accident. A spectacular one. If he wants to play dead, I’ll give Harrison Kent a taste of his own medicine.”

1 My hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped the phone. The conversation from the next room continued to bleed into the stillness. “Do you think this is fair to Stella? She’d have followed you to the grave already if it weren’t for that baby. She’s wasting away, Harry. It’s breaking my heart.” Harrison let out a deep, tired sigh. “But Zara only has half a year, Mom. This is her final plea. I can’t deny her this.” He paused, then his voice grew steadier, colder. “As for Stella, we have a lifetime. I will make this up to her. Don’t worry.” My chest seized up. It felt like a massive, icy hand had clamped down on my heart, the pain radiating to my limbs, stealing my breath. I stumbled into the bedroom, my legs giving out, and I crumpled onto the carpet just as Jake called back. “Stella, what’s going on? What happened? Isn’t Harrison… gone?” I wanted to speak, to scream, but only ragged, uncontrollable sobs escaped. Yes, I thought, to the world, Harrison Kent is dead. Even I couldn’t have imagined he would fake his death, and the reason was a lie about a desperate woman. I didn’t have to explain. Jake must have heard the raw grief and rage in my silence. “I hear you,” he said softly after a long moment. “I’m sending a jet. The night after tomorrow. Everything else will be handled.” When the call ended, I remained frozen in place, the phone still pressed to my ear. That was when a gentle knock came at the door. Standing there, holding a glass of warm milk, was my “brother-in-law.” Or, rather, my husband, Harrison Kent. “Stella, what are you doing on the floor? And why are you crying? Are you thinking about Harry again?” In the two weeks he’d been back, playing the role of the sympathetic, grieving brother, Harrison had been relentlessly kind, almost obsessively concerned about me. Countless times, when his gaze was too genuine, too familiar, I’d fall into a daze. My mother-in-law had always blamed it on my profound sorrow. I quickly locked my phone screen and forced a flimsy smile. “Nothing. Just a bit dizzy. My stomach felt off, and I lost my footing.” Harrison relaxed, placing the milk aside. He carefully helped me up. “This little one is already giving you trouble,” he said, his hand resting fleetingly on my stomach. “Wait until he’s born, I’ll have a word with him.” He paused, his expression softening into a practiced look of concern. “Come on, drink your milk and rest. Don’t dwell on things. Harry wouldn’t rest easy if he saw you like this.” The casual way he spoke his own name, the cold calculation of his performance, finally snapped my last thread of composure. I looked him dead in the eye and spoke the accusation I couldn’t hold back. “Are you absolutely certain,” I asked, each word a hammer blow, “that you’re not Harrison?” 2 Harrison froze, then gave a practiced, gentle chuckle, ruffling my hair like a child’s. “Don’t talk nonsense, Stells. Of course, I’m not Harry. Now, drink this and sleep. I’ll take you to the OB appointment tomorrow. Don’t ignore it; any pain is a big deal right now.” He paused, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “This is the only blood Harry left behind in the world. I have to make sure he arrives safely.” I dropped my gaze, unable to stomach the sheer volume of his manufactured concern. “Please leave. I’m exhausted. I just want to rest.” I waited until the door clicked shut. Then, the tears I’d held back all evening finally erupted. I met Harrison at a college meet-and-greet. He was immediately captivated, launching into a relentless, charming pursuit. We fell in love naturally. Two years after graduation, he gave me a spectacular proposal. I can still recall the fireworks reflecting in his eyes—his eyes, even more dazzling than the dazzling sky. During the wedding planning, I discovered I was pregnant. Harrison’s face had been a mask of pure, unadulterated joy. “The timing is perfect, Stella! He’s here to celebrate Mom and Dad getting married! I’m the luckiest man alive.” Even now, I couldn’t grasp why the man who had held me like precious glass for six years would cheat, and worse, why he would fake his own death to escape a wedding he supposedly longed for. The next morning, Harrison tapped lightly on my door. “Stella, it’s time for your check-up. Are you ready?” Just as we were about to leave, Zara’s voice, thick and sultry, echoed from the hallway. “Harry, darling? I’m not feeling well today. Can you please stay with me?” Harrison didn’t even glance at me. He bolted toward Zara. “Did you forget your meds again? You need to lie down. What if you collapse?” He turned back, his face a practiced blend of apology and irritation. “Sorry, Stella. Your sister-in-law isn’t feeling well. I can’t go with you.” He quickly added, “Don’t worry, the driver is waiting, and I’ve already called the doctor. Just head straight over.” I closed my eyes, fighting back the inevitable burn. When I opened them, I caught the fleeting, unmistakable flicker of triumph on Zara’s face. I didn’t say a word. I simply nodded, turned, and walked straight out of the house. The heavy door closed behind me with a sickening thud. I gently rubbed my abdomen, and the tears finally poured down. The driver dropped me off. Following Harrison’s pre-arranged instructions—I knew he’d suspect something if I didn’t—I went through all the necessary examinations. I sat alone on a sterile hospital bench, studying the ultrasound. The black-and-white image showed a small, peanut-sized circle. The doctor confirmed it: my baby. But I couldn’t raise my child in a world built on a foundation of betrayal and lies, a child who would always wonder why his father had chosen a lie over him. I wiped my face with a brutal swipe and called for an appointment at a different hospital. The Kent family had its own private hospital. If I did this there, Harrison would find out immediately. I called the driver, told him I was going shopping, and dismissed him. Hiding behind the main entrance, I waited until the car disappeared. Then I hailed a cab and headed for the second facility. Just before I was due to go into the operating room, my phone buzzed with a video message. It was Zara. The video, nearly thirty minutes long, showed Harrison consumed by a wild, unrestrained passion. I had never seen him like that. For six years, even in bed, Harrison had always been gentle, careful, afraid to hurt me. Now I understood. He wasn’t naturally reserved; the woman who ignited his fire simply wasn’t me. I watched the clip in a kind of self-inflicted torture, desperate to see the side of him I’d never known. Time melted away. “Ms. Stella Rhodes? Are you alright? It’s time for the procedure.” 3 I didn’t realize I was crying until the nurse spoke to me. I was trembling uncontrollably, the phone clutched so tightly my knuckles were white. And I made a horrifying discovery: I still loved Harrison Kent. He wasn’t an object I could discard when broken, or a friend I could cut off when hurt. He was a living, breathing person, the man I had loved for six years. That love had become a reflex, deep in my bones. The six years of companionship, the years when everyone—myself included—thought he adored me, couldn’t be erased in a single afternoon. I couldn’t do it. I truly couldn’t let go. Remembering the strong little heartbeat the doctor had pointed out, I wiped my tears, took a deep breath, and decided to give him, and the child, one last chance. I called Harrison. “Can you come to the hospital? I need to talk to you.” His voice was hoarse, strained, as if he were trying to suppress something. “Stella, I’m tied up right now. Let the driver bring you home, and we can talk later…” “Ugh…” A muffled groan, and the line went dead, replaced by a mechanical beep. We were adults. I didn’t need a medical degree to know exactly what was “tying him up.” I stared at the phone. Then, I lifted my eyes to the waiting nurse. “Never mind. I’m ready now. Let’s do the surgery.” It was dark by the time I got home. The moment I stepped through the door, Harrison rushed to greet me. “The driver said you went shopping. Why are you empty-handed? Didn’t you find anything you liked?” He stopped short, noticing my swollen, bloodshot eyes. “Stella, what happened? Why are your eyes so puffy? Did the appointment make you miss Harry again? It’s okay. The baby is his legacy; he’s a piece of him for you.” He paused, then added, “Oh, and you said you had something to tell me?” I studied his face: devastatingly handsome, just as before. His eyes reflected my image, exactly as they had in the video Zara sent that afternoon. I lowered my gaze, deliberately avoiding his. “It was nothing. I just wanted to ask if there was anything you or… your wife wanted me to bring home.” Harrison’s shoulders visibly slumped with relief. “Go and rest, then. You must be exhausted. I’ll tell the housekeeper to make your favorite tonight.” I nodded and walked straight to my room without another word. I must have been truly spent because I fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow. In a hazy dream, I saw eighteen-year-old Harrison again. He stood before me, his cheeks flushed, confessing his feelings. “Stella Rhodes, I’m crazy about you. Will you be my girlfriend?” he’d asked. “I promise I’ll be good to you. Forever.” Whether it was the enchanting sunset or the genuine spark in his eyes, I don’t know. But that day, I nodded. I woke up to bright daylight. Since hearing the news of Harrison’s supposed death, this was the most peaceful sleep I’d had. I was still sitting on the bed, dazed, when the door swung open. Zara walked in, a triumphant smirk plastered on her face. “You know why I sent you that video yesterday, don’t you? You really think he’s your dead husband’s brother, and I’m your sympathetic sister-in-law?” 4 I didn’t answer her, only internally mocking my own willful blindness. When I first heard the news of Harrison’s accident, the shock and my pregnancy-induced fragility had made me pass out. When I woke up, my mother-in-law told me the body had already been cremated. They even used my fragile condition as an excuse to prevent me from attending the funeral. Every single step had been a massive red flag. But for six years, Harrison and I had been the couple everyone admired. He was always perfect. It never occurred to me that he would use this to escape a commitment. Then the mysterious older brother from overseas appeared with his international wife. I was perpetually confused, yes, but I never once considered the possibility of a fake death—not until I overheard Harrison and his mother’s conversation. Zara took my silence as confirmation. Her smile widened, predatory and knowing. “A woman always knows another woman’s tricks. When you were so eager to get out of the house for your appointment yesterday, I knew something was wrong. You figured it out.” She leaned closer, her eyes glittering. “You must be dying to know why he cheated, right? Why he faked his death just to be with me? Ha! Do you know what he says about you behind your back?” The venom in her voice was palpable. “He says you’re bland. Predictable. He said that after so long, sleeping with you was like performing a mandatory duty. But with me? It’s different. I can make him forget everything. I can make him absolutely lose control. He calls me his ‘beautiful black pearl,’ says women like me have a deeper, richer kind of fire…” My heart hammered against my ribs. A volcanic rage surged through me, threatening to erupt. I couldn’t stop myself. My hand flew out and delivered a stinging slap across her face. Zara clutched her cheek, a scream of outrage dying on her lips as Harrison’s shout sliced through the air. “Stella! What the hell are you doing?” The triumph in Zara’s eyes instantly melted into theatrical, heartbroken victimhood. “She hit me, Harry! I just came to offer her some comfort because she’s been so sad about you… I mean, her husband. I know she’s grieving, but she can’t just attack me!” Harrison stared at Zara’s red cheek, then rounded on me, his face twisted in fury. “Stella Rhodes, she is your sister-in-law!” I ignored the accusation. I looked him straight in the eyes, my voice dangerously calm. “I ask you again, Harrison. Is she really my sister-in-law?” Harrison flinched, startled by the coldness in my gaze. Before he could answer, Zara grabbed his arm, clinging to him. “Harry, come back to the room with me. I really don’t feel well.” He hesitated, his lips parted as if he wanted to say something else, but ultimately, he allowed Zara to pull him away. I stared at the closed door, numb. My reflection showed a woman who had just realized her entire adult life had been a lie. Then, Jake’s message came through. “The jet has landed.” I took a final, deep breath, got up, and placed the letter I’d already prepared into the nightstand drawer. I wanted Harrison to be the one to find the suicide note after he learned of my death. I wanted him to read my words, to see that my love for him was so profound it drove me to this end. I wanted him to live every day in agonizing guilt. I wanted him to suffer a fate worse than death. I didn’t pack anything. With only my ID and bank card, I walked out of the room, only to run right into Harrison, who was emerging from Zara’s bedroom. Seeing me, he looked conflicted, but his pretense held fast. “I’m sorry about just now, Stella. I shouldn’t have yelled. But you can’t hit your sister-in-law…” I cut him off with a raised hand. “I’m going for a walk. Just a long one. You stay home and take good care of your brother… and your wife.” I put heavy, deliberate emphasis on the titles. Harrison seemed oblivious, or maybe just relieved. “A walk is a good idea. Fresh air will help. Don’t be too late, though. I’ve asked the cook to prepare your favorite dinner.” I nodded. As I brushed past him, my eyes narrowed. Harrison Kent. You loved the theatrical flair of faking your death. Now, accept the grand gesture I’ve prepared for you.