The Woman He Loved Was Me

Three years into our marriage, my husband still politely called me "Ms. Fairchild." I had always assumed he was as emotionally detached as I was.

Until I heard that my husband, Dominic Pembroke, had defied his family as a young man and given up his inheritance for a woman.

He sailed down the Atlantic with her, made his way through the Amazon rainforest, and finally settled into a quiet life in a small town in the Andes.

But that grand, allconsuming love was eventually torn apart by his family.

I couldn't help asking: "You never thought about getting her back?" Dominic stubbed out his cigarette and said flatly: "She's already forgotten me." Chapter 1 I got married the year I turned twentyfive.

To a man I met on a blind date. It was about responsibility, family, and what we'd each get in return. It had nothing to do with love.

He was two years older than me, which these days wasn't much of a gap. He was detached and steady, always carrying a maturity beyond his years.

Like an old calendar, tossed aside somewhere in the long stretch of time. He was a man with a past. I realized it clearly the first time we met.

It showed in the pause when his eyes landed on my hands and feet, and in the way he looked away as he sat down across from me.

You wouldn't expect a man like that to go on a blind date. But he came. I stirred the sugar in my coffee and thought, indifferently, that no one escapes the pull of tradition.

You reach a certain age, and you step onto the path laid out for you. That was true for me, and it was true for him. We met, had dinner, dated, and signed the marriage license.

Walking out of City Hall, he raised his wrist to glance at his watch and said flatly, "I'll be home tonight." I nodded blankly. "Okay." He turned to leave. "There's a meeting at the office.

I have to go." I said goodbye politely. "Goodbye, Mr. Pembroke." He answered, "Goodbye, Ms. Fairchild." That night, he called while I was on a train to the next city over.

It was close to winter break, and the train was packed with students, some sleeping, some on their phones. The slightest noise would disturb them. I didn't answer. I hit decline.

I opened our text thread and replied. [Sorry, it's hard to take calls on the train.

Can we text?] At the top of the screen was the contact name I'd saved for him, "Coworker – Dominic Pembroke." A typing bubble popped up in the thread, and a second later his message came in. [Sure.] He was a very reasonable person, I concluded. [Not coming home?] I typed slowly. [Business trip.] He took a while to reply.

He'd probably put his phone down to do something else.

I went to the restroom to wash my hands too, came back to my seat, and saw his reply. [Where?] [Philadelphia.] [When are you back?] [Next Wednesday.] [Text me when you get to Philadelphia.] [Okay.] We didn't text much.

It had been that way for years. He asked, and I answered. Same as in real life. He was busy with work, and my job wasn't exactly relaxed either. We didn't see much of each other.

At home, the only thing that kept us connected was our marital duty: at least three times a week, on a fixed schedule. Most of the time, he was in his study and I was in mine.

Only at night, when I finished working and looked up, I'd always find him standing in the doorway. His robe loosely tied, watching me with unhurried ease.

Chapter 2 I'd nod at him. "I'll go shower.

Sorry to keep you waiting." He'd walk over, sweep me up into his arms, and answer considerately, "I haven't been waiting long." Another routine exchange, over.

He traced my brows and eyes with the pad of his finger. "We've been married three years. Should we have a kid?" My eyes were unfocused, my head fuzzy.

It took me a long time to catch up to what he meant. "A kid?" He was propped up over me, and when I tipped my head back, I was looking right at the scratches on his chest.

Old ones, new ones. All mine. Maybe it was all that restraint during the day. Dominic wasn't gentle. At first I held back. Then I couldn't, and I tore the sheets.

As he was cleaning up, he said, "Next time, you can scratch me." For once I was embarrassed, and I stammered, "Mm…" That day, he ruffled my hair. "Carrie, we're married.

You don't have to be shy." I froze. By the time I came back to myself, he'd already pulled his hand away. His expression was flat, the same as always.

Dominic smiled. "Don't you love kids? Should we have one?" "Huh?" I let out a short, confused sound. "I don't love kids that much." Kids were optional to me.

I wasn't against having one, and I wasn't looking forward to it either. I just felt that a child should be born into a family where the parents loved each other.

If you had one, you had to take responsibility for it.

Since he'd brought it up out of nowhere, I asked, "Are your parents pushing for a grandkid?" He lowered his eyes and murmured, "You don't want a kid?" I nodded.

He wrapped his arms around me, and only after a long time did he say, "No one's pushing.

No one can force me into anything anymore." His face was blurry in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, hard to make out. Had someone forced him before? Made him do things?

I was a little curious, but I also figured something like that was probably a wound. Making someone tear open a wound just to tell me about it. That seemed pretty rude.

He wound a strand of my hair around his finger, as if he could see my curiosity. "What do you want to know?" I shook my head. Nothing. He kissed me again.

Somewhere in the rising and falling, I happened to meet his eyes. The heavy sorrow in them pressed down on me until I couldn't breathe.

Those eyes seemed to be looking at me, and at the same time, through me at someone else. My heart gave a faint, aching twinge.

I gasped for air, wanting to pull myself out of this despairshrouded intimacy. I failed. Failed. I begged, "Mr. Pembroke…" He paused, then held me down even harder.

I couldn't say anything. All I could faintly hear was him saying: "Carrie, call me Dom." The next morning, I didn't even have the strength to get out of bed.

I lay there, completely wiped out, going over what I'd said wrong the night before. Dominic got rough, but not every day. I'd probably said something wrong last night.

Was it because I'd turned down his idea of having a kid? I didn't like the mood last night. His emotions were too heavy.

It kept giving me the feeling that he was looking through me at someone else. We were a legally married couple, after all. We'd signed the license.

I needed to talk to him about it later. Come to think of it, even though we'd met on a blind date, our families weren't exactly a match.

He belonged to a class I'd never have come into contact with. My family owned a small company. His was old money, the very top tier.

Meeting him on a blind date had been an accident. My actual date never showed up, and he'd gone to the wrong table.

We ran into each other by mistake and thought well enough of each other, and since he didn't care about the gap between our families, he married me.

But however big the gap, we were still equals as husband and wife. I pushed myself up and rubbed my legs.

Chapter 3 For some reason, I kept feeling like he hadn't really gotten his fill.

Otherwise I'd be spending the whole day in bed, he'd bring me food and feed me, and I'd whine to him about how tired I was.

He'd set the dishes aside to soothe me, and the soothing would get out of hand. I wondered if I was imagining it in too much detail.

The picture was already starting to take shape in my head. Luckily Dominic came in just then and interrupted my fantasy.

My ears went a little warm, and I said quietly, trying to negotiate, "Could you hold back a little from now on?" He tilted his head. "You don't like it?" I did.

But when he lost control, the way he looked at me was always strange. I didn't like the way he looked at me.

Thinking back to the odd moments when we first met, the plots of a few melodramatic stories came to mind.

I asked softly, "Who are you using me as a standin for?" It was so soft I wasn't sure I'd actually said it out loud.

Dominic hadn't caught it either. "I'm using you as what?" I shook my head. "Nothing." If he hadn't heard it, better not to ask.

It was the weekend, and my parents wanted me home for dinner that night. Dominic was home. When I was getting ready to head out, he was in the living room.

He asked, "Where are you going?" "Home for a bit." He walked up to me. "You're not taking me with you?" I hesitated. For some reason, my parents really hated Dominic.

When they heard the blind date had gone well, they were happy and grilled me with all kinds of questions. They just never looked at a photo.

Well… they probably did, but what they saw was the date I never actually met.

Three months later, when I brought Dominic home to meet them, Dad hurled a glass at him and Mom threw down her fork. I stared at my furious parents, lost. Dominic put me behind him.

Dad called him into the study. At a loss, I said, "If you don't like him, I'll just break up with him. Please don't be angry." Mom hugged me and sighed. "Don't break up.

Go ahead and get married. I'll plan the wedding for you." After we married, my parents still didn't like Dominic. I didn't want to see them upset, so I rarely brought him home.

Today I wasn't planning to either. Dominic adjusted my scarf. "Carrie, today… come home early." I felt a little guilty. "I'll be back early." He smiled. "Okay.

I'll drive you." At home that weekend, my parents asked how I'd been, as always. I said I was good. It got late, and they had me stay the night.

I texted Dominic. [I'm staying at my parents' tonight, not coming back, sorry] He replied. [No problem. Good night] He was as considerate as ever.

I put my phone down and went to get ready for bed. While drying my hair, I held the hair dryer in one hand and flipped through my diary with the other.

The words I'd written back then felt so unfamiliar. Unfamiliar handwriting, unfamiliar names. And yet the scenes they described kept calling up memories, wave after wave.

I picked up the diary, and a photo suddenly slipped out from between the cover and the pages. When had I tucked a photo in there? I picked it up. Once I saw it clearly, I froze.

Only half the photo was left. The other half had been cut away. Judging by the bit of clothing at the edge, it was a man. I turned it over.

On the back was a line in my handwriting. [Going to be with ██ forever and ever. [December 7, 2018.] The name had been blacked out. The date: eight years ago.

Dominic said he was free and would come pick me up. I carried downstairs the bags, big and small, that my parents had packed for me.

Chapter 4 Toiletries, snacks, all stuff you could buy at any grocery store. I kept saying there was no need, I could buy it myself, but Mom wouldn't listen.

She handed me another bag of snacks. I groaned. "I can't eat all this. Mom, I'm not a pig, you know?" Mom laughed and scolded me. "If you're not a pig, who is?

Your dad and I are going on a trip next week, so don't come over.

Stock up on snacks." "But I can't carry all this back!" Mom nudged Dad. "Have your dad drive you home." I linked arms with Mom, grinning, and told her to bring me back lots of local treats from her trip.

Mom asked what I wanted, and I was halfway through rattling off a list of food when my phone rang. Dominic said he was waiting downstairs.

My parents didn't live very high up, just the fifth floor. I ran to the balcony, and sure enough, I saw his car down at street level.

Mom followed me over, and her face darkened when she saw that car. She called Dad over. "Dominic's here." Dad was still carrying bags.

He came over to look, shoved the bags in his hands at me, went back into the study, and slammed the door. It was like this every time. It made me so sad.

I tugged at Mom's sleeve. "Why don't you guys like him?" Dominic's arrival had spoiled Mom's good mood too.

She hugged me gently, as if she were lying to me. "Maybe it's just bad chemistry.

Sweetheart, you two have a good life together, and we'll just see him less." But… Mom called Dad out. "Honey, Carrie has too much to carry down." Dad looked terrible, but he still helped me carry everything.

He loaded all the bags for me, then turned on his heel and left. I buckled my seatbelt, feeling really bad for Dominic. "Sorry you had to come get me. Dad's in a bad mood today.

He wasn't targeting you on purpose." He gripped the steering wheel tighter and murmured, "He has every right to hate me." I wondered if I'd heard wrong.

My eyes went wide. "Huh?" The car pulled away. The trees lining the road rushed past on both sides. At nine in the morning, New York was crowded even on the weekend.

The car crept along in traffic. I heard him say: "I'm sorry