THE SECOND WIFE
I was certain my ex-husband would soon leave this woman. Ella was not from his worldtactless, erratic, a reckless adventurer. She was six years older than Victor.
To be fair, Ella was attractive, always impeccably dressed, with an air of mystery about her. But the moment she spoke, that illusion shattered. Victor, my ex, was her oppositegentle, caring, calm. You might wonder why we divorced if he was so perfect. The fault was mine. I admit it.
After we split, Victor threw himself into chaos. First, he dabbled in romance with a colleague, Nancy, who had long fancied him and dreamed of becoming his wife. Nancy had a young son who needed a father, and she was determined to be everything for Victor. She cooked him meals, ironed his shirts to perfectioneverything short of tying his scarf for him. But Victor wanted a wife, not another mother. The office affair lasted barely three months before he escaped Nancys smothering care.
Next, my former best friend, Olivia, swooped in. She had always caught Victors eye, and he assumed I never noticed. Free of commitments, she craved love. The moment she sensed our marriage crumbling, she became his shoulder to cry on. Victor spent a year drifting between her and the ruins of our home. His savings drained into Olivias hands, and a wedding seemed inevitable.
Then Ella appeared unexpectedly. Victor met her through mutual friends who insisted they were perfect for each otherboth single, both with children. When Victor confessed about Olivia, Ella scoffed, “A fiancée isnt a wife. She can easily be replaced!”
Olivia was pushed aside. Ella dragged Victor to the registry office, moved in with her daughter, Irene, and took over his life. By then, Victor and I had sold our shared flat. Irene was fourteena handful, constantly running off, too independent for her age.
Once married, Ella convinced Victors mother to downsize from a two-bedroom flat to a one-bedroom, claiming it was easier for her. His mother agreed without protest, just to keep peace in Victors new life. With the leftover money, Ella refurbished Victors flat and registered herself and Irene there.
Ella was always in some scrapea stolen fur coat, a cash register shortage, offending wealthy clients. Her employer tolerated it only because Victor quietly covered her debts. The moment the last payment was made, she was sacked. Victor suggested she stay home, thinking it cheaper. Ella agreed but never lifted a fingerno cooking, no cleaning. Instead, she filled her days with cafés, salons, and shopping. Victor came home to an empty house, frying his own eggs while waiting for his wife.
Every summer, they toured Europe. Victor loved extravagantly, without restraint.
Time passed.
At twenty, Irene had a son by an unknown fathera child “brought home in an apron,” as they say. Ella took over raising the boy while Irene paraded a stream of “fathers” through the house. Victor grew irritable, so Ella pressured him to buy Irene a flatpreferably a three-bedroomclaiming it would help her settle down. He did. Soon, a decent man entered Irenes life, loving both her and her son. But Ella despised himhe didnt earn enough. She whined endlessly about wealthier suitors until he left. Now Victor supports Ellas grandson too.
When our daughter turned thirty, she wanted to celebrate with her fractured family. Ella refused to let Victor go alone and joined him. Over wine, Ella boasted about her preference for brutes and troublemakers, insisting Victor wasnt her type at all. Yet he was her golden ticket. “Pout a little, and hed move mountains for me. With him, lifes a breeze!”
Bored of domesticity, Ella meddled in Victors businessand wrecked it. Now he begs our son-in-law for loans.
Thats their love story.
Victor and Ella married twenty years ago. Theyre still together. I dont understand it.
Some people mistake dependence for loveand spend a lifetime paying for it.
