THE WIFE INSIDE

  WINTER K. WILLIS

  CONNECT WITH WINTER

  Winter K. Willis is a pseudonym for our two-person writing team. We like to think of it as our band name. We love telling our character's stories and hope that you enjoy reading them.

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  THE WIFE INSIDE

  WINTER K. WILLIS

  Copyright © 2023 by Winter K. Willis

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Celestial Bear Publishing

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  The content of this book is for entertainment only and does not constitute as health or medical advice. It is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure, or prevent any condition or disease. The authors are not healthcare professionals. For any health-related inquiries, please contact your healthcare providers.

  CONTENTS

  The Wife Inside

  1. Anna

  2. Lynda

  3. Anna

  4. Anna

  5. Lynda

  6. Anna

  7. Anna

  8. Anna

  9. Anna

  10. Lynda

  11. Anna

  12. Anna

  13. Anna

  14. Anna

  15. Anna

  16. Anna

  17. Lynda

  18. Anna

  19. Anna

  20. Anna

  21. Anna

  22. Lynda

  23. Anna

  24. Anna

  25. Anna

  26. Anna

  27. Anna

  28. Anna

  29. Anna

  30. Anna

  31. Lynda

  32. Anna

  33. Anna

  34. Anna

  35. Anna

  36. Anna

  37. Anna

  38. Anna

  39. Anna

  40. Anna

  41. Anna

  42. Anna

  43. Anna

  44. Anna

  45. Him (Past)

  46. Anna

  47. Lynda (Past)

  48. Anna

  49. Lynda (Present)

  50. Him (Past)

  51. Anna

  52. Anna

  A Letter From Winter

  Connect with us

  THE WIFE INSIDE

  BY WINTER K. WILLIS

  PROLOGUE: HIM

  There are many bodies at the bottom of Puget Sound. I don’t know how all of them got there, but I know I will add three tonight.

  As I navigate the speedboat, I’m headed to my usual spot, in the middle of nowhere, on an unusually clear night. The moonlight on the gentle waves and the silence of my three tarp-wrapped passengers calms my spirit.

  I rev the engine, cutting through the dark waters with ease. The night is still and quiet, save for the sound of the wind and the distant hum of Seattle.

  I’ve been out here nearly an hour, headed to the perfect spot to dispose of my cargo. I’ve always been a careful man, planning everything meticulously to avoid getting caught. No one could ever tie any of it back to me. My father would have been proud.

  Finally, I spot the secluded area, far from any other boats or civilization. I cut the engine and let the boat drift to a stop, the only sound now is the lapping of the water against the hull.

  Relaxed, I step to the back of the boat and stand over the three not-so-dearly departed. I can’t see their faces through the black tarp, but I know they look peaceful. In a way, they understood that what happened was necessary. Inevitable even.

  One by one, I heave them over the side, watching as they sink into the murky depths below.

  1

  ANNA

  I run inside the apartment building. An all-black van with tinted windows sits across the street from where I live. I spotted that same van following me on my way to work. Maybe it’s in my head, but I’m not taking any chances. I race upstairs to my apartment and rush to unlock the door. I walk inside. That’s when I see it.

  Greg is sloppy. He sweats a lot. Not that I mind sweat, but his is slimy and just looks gross. Disgusting is a better word for it. I watch his shoulders move back and forth, his body over a woman that I do not know, in our bed. I wonder how long I can stand and watch them before they notice me here.

  The television was on and loud when I came into our small apartment and the bedroom door was open. So, it was nothing for me to take the ten or so steps to end up at the foot of our bed and witness my fiancé cheating on me. I want to say something. I want to yell or scream, but I know that if I stop them, without letting this image burn a permanent scar into my mind, I just might be dumb enough to let him come back. I know that I may be crazy to think like that at this moment, but I guess you don’t know how you’ll react in these situations. I’m reacting by allowing myself to seethe.

  So, I watch as he continues, but somewhere in between the kissing and thrusting, the woman that he is inside of sees me standing there in my gym clothes.

  “Hello,” I say.

  Greg turns and sees me. He throws himself off of the girl, grabbing the blanket with him. She rushes for sheets to cover herself with . . . my sheets. I wonder if she even knew that she was doing something wrong. There are pictures of Greg and I around the apartment. Maybe she was too busy to notice.

  “Anna. This… I…,” Greg starts.

  “Don’t even try it,” I say.

  “Just hold on,” he says, as he rushes to the bathroom. I don’t know what he’s going to do in there. Maybe give himself a pep talk?

  The girl and I stare at each other. “I didn’t know he had a girlfriend,” she says to me timidly.

  “He had a fiancé,” I say.

  She stands awkwardly with the sheet around her.

  “Go and take the sheet with you.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she says. I watch her scramble for her dress and heels.

  I’m not mad at her. I don’t feel anything for her really. Except maybe pity because she, like me, slept with this loser.

  She struggles to carry the sheet around her and hold her clothes at the same time. For a second, I think about blocking her way because I kind of want to see her squirm a little bit more. Maybe I am mad at her. She had to have seen those pictures of us. Of course she knew he was in a relationship.

  I’m slightly taller than her, slightly bigger and definitely more athletic. She looks like the type of girl you would take on a date and she wouldn’t eat anything. I definitely would order a steak or a cheeseburger, especially if I was trying not to look bougie. My pity for her fades and I think about attacking her. I immediately try to push the thought aside. I just came back from teaching a kickboxing class and my adrenaline is still high, if not spiking. If I did go at her, this would be a bully session and I want to save my energy for potentially knocking Greg’s teeth in.

  “Did you at least come?” I ask. I don’t know why I ask her this. The words just blurt out. She stares at me, confused. “Did you come?” I ask louder, making sure she hears me.

  She looks afraid. She doesn’t respond and scurries out of the apartment.

  “Didn’t think so,” I yell after her.

  I hear the front door shut and know that she’s gone. Greg however, is still in the bathroom.

  I walk to the bathroom and talk to Greg through the door.

  “So, how long are you going to stay in there?” I say. I hear the water running. He turns it off and opens the door.

  “We never see each other anymore,” he says.

  Great. This must be one of those games where the guy tries to flip it on the woman. Okay, I’ll play.

  “How is that relevant?” I respond.

  “You basically pushed me away. I got lonely, okay?”

  Maybe I won’t play. “If what you mean by me pushing you away is that I have a job and you refuse to go out and get one, then okay, I understand. Yeah, it’s my fault because I left you alone and went out to pay rent.”

  “No one is hiring, we already talked about this,” he says.

  I just shake my head. How is he gaslighting me after he just got caught?

  “How about you just don’t deal with all of this anymore.” I hand him the engagement ring from my finger. “You can take this, go pawn it or return it. Use the money to get yourself set up, then I never have to see you again.”

  I know this is one of those situations where people tend to be dramatic and say hurtful things that they don’t mean and then end up going back to the person in the end. Maybe in the interim, they also tell family members ugly things about that person and permanently tarnish the picture of their partner to their friends and relatives, but that’s not going to happen with me, because I know that I won’t ever forget seeing him in the bed with her. Allowing the image to sear i
nto my brain will make things easy. Besides, I don’t have any real friends or family left to talk to about this. Greg was it.

  I think about asking him her name, to make a more complete picture of the infidelity, but I’m afraid that if he tells me, I might look her up online one drunk night and need more clarity. I don’t want to do that. So I simply say to Greg, “I think it’s time for you to leave now.”

  He knows who I am. He knows how I am and he knows that when I’m calm like this, it’s probably best not to ask any questions. He nods and walks to the closet, slides on some boxers and begins to pack a bag.

  He’s getting off too easy, a little voice whispers in my ear.

  I look over at his turtle, Shakespeare. “I’m keeping Shakespeare,” I say.

  Greg turns to me. I think I catch a little bit of sadness in his eye. I know it’s mean, but at this point, I don’t care. I take a step toward him and repeat, “I’m keeping Shakespeare.” I want it to hurt. That’s his baby. He’s had that turtle for at least a year now, but in reality, I’m the one paying the bills and feeding it, so I have a claim to him.

  “Okay,” he says dejectedly. “Fine.”

  I turn to walk out of the room and leave him to his packing.

  “Anna,” he says, calling my name before I can leave the room.

  I wonder if he’s gonna finally give an apology. I mean, I don’t know who the girl was, but even she apologized. He still hasn’t.

  He continues. “Have fun rushing to go tell your followers about what just happened.”

  “What?”

  “I know that you’re just gonna post all about this. So I’m glad that you at least get something out of it. You always did spend more time with them, than you did with me.”

  Is he serious? “I wouldn’t even give you the satisfaction of posting about this,” I say.

  “Okay, yeah, we’ll see.” He throws on his jeans and snatches up his backpack. “I’ll be back to get the rest of it when you’re not here.” His ability to be so cold after what he just did to me reinforces my decision.

  “Well, if you leave now, maybe you can go catch her.” They probably deserve each other.

  He shakes his head and walks out of the front door, somehow seemingly disgusted with me.

  I immediately pull out my phone and open my social media account, then stop myself. This is exactly what he said I was going to do. I’m conflicted. I desperately want to tell somebody about this. I want someone to tell me that I probably should have hit him when I had the chance and I know my followers will totally have my back on this.

  This is the moment where people usually say something they regret online and have to rush to delete it later. I’m gonna make sure that I don’t do that. Otherwise, he’ll just be right. I can’t let him be right.

  I stare at my face on the phone, finger hovering over the button labeled live. It’s amazing how great these apps make you look with ‘no filter.’ The button should be labeled ‘lies.’ On the screen, my currently frizzed-out top knot looks like perfectly defined curls in a messy bun. My almond-shaped eyes look at least a half-size bigger and have zero redness. All of my slight splotches and acne fade into a perfect mocha brown and this is the ‘no-filter’ situation.

  I hit the live button and start talking. “Hey, everybody. I just got back from teaching my kickboxing class. I had a high-profile client tell me something interesting today. And obviously, I won’t say her name for confidentiality purposes…” But really it’s because it is me. I am the figurative client.

  I continue. “This client told me that she was having . . . relationship problems, we’ll just leave it at that. It was so upsetting to her that she didn’t really want to go to work today, but she decided to show up anyway. I just wanted to share that with all of you. Maybe you’re having a bad day. Maybe something happened in your life that wasn’t ideal, but you can choose to show up anyway. Let’s go to work people.”

  I smile as I hit the button and send it out for the world to see. I check the numbers on my account. I’ve been floating in the upper nine-hundred thousands the last few weeks. Maybe this will push me over the hump. Having a million followers would be a huge milestone. Maybe it’ll help me not think about what just happened with Greg.

  Yeah, I’m not gonna allow myself to dwell on a garbage person. I’m sure some night, maybe after a couple of margaritas or a glass of cabernet, I’ll be feeling sad about it, but not right now, I’m just going to use the anger to try to get things done and follow my own advice.

  I do feel kinda fake because I have to put on a good face for the camera, but someone out there might need to hear the positivity. I know that I do.

  This whole incident made me so mad, that I forgot what I originally wanted to talk to Greg about. The all-black van with tinted windows that was outside of my work this morning and then waiting outside of the apartment building when I got home. I remember this now that he’s gone and I am all alone.

  I rush to the window and look out at the street. The van is no longer there, thankfully. Even if I did tell him, I already know Greg would just think I’m overreacting. Perhaps, but something just doesn’t feel right. What if someone’s following me? What would even be the reason? And if I am being followed, they know where I live.

  2

  LYNDA

  I sit at the marble countertop of the island in my kitchen. Next to me is a glass of pinot. I scroll through the images of wedding receptions on the website that my friend recommended. Everything looks a bit too posh. I kind of want things to be more low-key. Less crystal chandeliers and more rustic feeling. Maybe even something outside, if the weather cooperates. Who am I kidding? This is Seattle and I’m trying to plan a ceremony in mid-September. I’d be stupid to plan an event outside.

  I take a sip of my wine and stare at the plate of half-eaten brownie, which is slightly out of my arm’s reach. I told myself that if I made it a little bit harder to eat it, I wouldn’t scarf it down so fast and grab another one. The thought reminds me to check AnnaFit’s page. I haven’t looked today and I don’t want to make a fuss, but I might need to complain if the merch that I ordered is another day late.

  I click and see her post that she freshly shared. Anna is the epitome of vibrant youth. I know that she’s a fitness influencer, but I highly doubt that she really needs to work out, in fact I bet it’s just easy for her. She doesn’t have to have the mental battles that come along with running a nearly hundred-million-dollar business. I bet if she did, she would eat that whole brownie.

  Anna’s hair is up in a messy bun and she looks her beautiful, usual self for her post-workout words of inspiration. She’s talking about some client and persevering, the usual crap that would make me feel better if I weren’t drinking wine at two p.m. I guess it’s five o’clock on the east coast. So this is just fine.

  I am definitely going to start working out. I purchased a couple of her branded outfits for a reason and it definitely wasn’t to look cute. I’ve gained quite a bit of weight the last few years. I could say it was because the world shut down or my injury and I could say it’s because of stress, but in reality, everyone is dealing with these types of things. Besides, I just don’t like making excuses. I just like food. I like to drink. If I get in shape, that’s not going to change. It is what it is.