THE SECOND WIFE
I was certain my ex-husband would soon flee from this woman. Ella wasnt from his worldtactless, flighty, a reckless adventurer. She was six years older than Victor.
To be fair, Ella was pretty, always dressed with taste. She knew how to drape herself in mystery, casting a delicate veil over her persona. But the moment she spoke, the illusion vanished. Victormy exwas her opposite: gentle, nurturing, steady. You might ask why we divorced if he was such a saint. The fault was mine. I confess
When Victor and I parted, he threw himself into chaos. First, he toyed with love for his colleague, Natalie. Shed been pining for him, dreaming of becoming his wife. Natalie had a young son who needed a father, and she was eager to mother Victor too. She cooked for him, ironed his shirts to perfectioneverything short of tying his scarf for him before he stepped out. But Victor wanted a wife, not another mother. The office affair lasted barely three months before he escaped her smothering care.
Then my best friendnow formerOlivia swooped in. Victor had always fancied her, assuming I didnt notice. Free from husbands and children, she craved love. The moment she sensed the cracks in our marriage, she became his weeping pillow. For a year, Victor drifted between her and the cold ashes of our home. His savings bled into Olivias hands, and a wedding seemed inevitable.
Then Ella appeared out of nowhere. They met through mutual friends, who insisted theyd be perfectboth single, both with children. Victor told Ella about Olivia. “A fiancée isnt a wife,” Ella declared. “She can un-fiancée herself just as quickly!”
Olivia was shoved 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 fourteen thena girl who frayed her mothers nerves, always running off, too independent by half.
Once legally wed, Ella suggested Victors mother downsize from her two-bedroom flat to a one-bedder. “Its too much for you,” she cooed. Victors mother agreed, meekly movinganything for her sons peace. With the leftover money, Ella renovated Victors flat and registered herself and Irene there.
Ella was forever tangled in scandalsa stolen fur coat, a till shortfall, snapping at wealthy customers. Her employer tolerated it as long as Victor quietly covered the losses. The moment the last payment cleared, Ella was out on her ear.
Victor suggested she stay homecheaper that way. Ella agreed but refused to knit or cook. Instead, she whiled away hours in cafés with friends, salons, shopping sprees. Victor returned from work to fry eggs and wait for his beloved. As they say, the wife dines out while the husband gnaws a bone.
Every summer, they toured EuropeVictor loved grandly, with his whole heart.
Years slipped by
At twenty, Irene had a son by some unknown mana bundle in an apron, as they say. Ella took charge of the boy while Irene paraded a stream of “fathers” through the house. Victor bristled, so Ella pressed him to buy Irene a three-bedroom flat. “A proper home will lure a proper man,” she insisted. Victor bought it. Soon, a decent fellow moved in, loving Irene and her son. But Ella despised himhis wages were too meagre. She whined about wealthy suitors until he left. Now Victor supports Ellas grandson too.
When our daughter turned thirty, she wanted to celebrate with the shattered remains of our family. Ella refused to let Victor go aloneshe tagged along. At the table, wine loosened her tongue. She confessed a taste for brutes and rogues. Victor, she claimed, was never her type. Yet he was her magic wand: “Pout, and hed turn himself inside out for me. Life with him is a breeze!”
Bored of domesticity, Ella meddled in Victors businessand sank it. Now he runs to our son-in-law for loans.
Thats love, I suppose.
Victor and Ella married twenty years ago. Theyre still together.
I dont understand.
