My Mother Faked Her Death To Protect My Husband’s Mistress Chapter 08
The Woman at the Door
After that day, Elliot stops going to the office and spends every day at home, circling me with a careful guilt that makes the whole house feel smaller.
He cooks meals I barely touch and brings home flowers I never ask for. Every word, every look, every step is measured, as if one wrong move might make me disappear again.
He is trying to make up for what he did.
His devotion feels less like love and more like punishment.
But to me, he is only a caregiver I know a little better than the others.
I do not reject him.
I do not respond to him either.
That is worse.
I can see it wearing him down.
His face grows thinner day by day. His eyes are always bloodshot, like he has not slept in years.
One afternoon, the doorbell rings.
Elliot is in the kitchen, making soup.
I walk over and open the door.
A middle-aged woman stands outside.
She is covered from head to toe. Mask. Sunglasses. Scarf.
Even with half her face hidden, I can feel her shaking.
Slowly, she takes off the mask.
A pale, worn face appears in front of me.
It is the woman from the photos.
The woman Elliot called Mom.
The moment she sees me, tears spill from her eyes.
“June.”
She steps forward, reaching for me.
I step back.
I look at her carefully.
“Ma’am, who are you looking for?”
Her whole body stiffens.
She stares at me in disbelief.
“June, I’m your mother. Don’t you recognize your own mother?”
I frown.
I search my mind for her face.
Nothing.
“I’m sorry,” I say politely. “I’m sick. I don’t remember the past.”
Her eyes tremble.
I add, “But my diary says my mother is dead.”
The words hit her like a hammer.
She covers her mouth, and a broken sob escapes through her fingers.
Elliot hears the noise and runs out of the kitchen.
When he sees the woman at the door, his face darkens.
“Mom, why are you here?”
He moves in front of me.
His voice drops low, full of warning.
“Didn’t we agree you wouldn’t show up in front of June?”
Mom cries so hard she can barely breathe.
“I heard about the accident. I heard she lost her memory. I couldn’t stay away.”
She looks past Elliot’s shoulder at me with desperate eyes.
Like she is trying to find even a trace of the daughter who once loved her.
But she finds nothing in my eyes. I do not know her, do not miss her, and do not feel the pull a daughter is supposed to feel when her mother cries in front of her.
The fake death she planned did more than erase her from the world.
It erased her from her daughter’s mind.
I look at the two of them.
For some reason, I almost want to laugh.
“If you know each other,” I say, “you can come in and sit.”
Elliot turns to me at once, tense.
“No. She was just passing by.”
He reaches for the door, clearly desperate to close it.
Then a voice comes from the elevator.
“Mrs. Harper! Elliot!”
Claire walks toward us in high heels.
She looks at Mom crying, then at Elliot’s tight face.
A flash of displeasure crosses her eyes.
“Elliot, you haven’t answered my calls for days.”
Her mouth trembles like she has been wronged.
“You promised you would go to the gallery opening with me.”
Elliot does not even look at her.
His voice is flat and cold.
“Leave.”
Claire freezes.
“Elliot, you…”
“I said leave!”
Elliot explodes.
It is the first time I have seen him lose control like this.
Claire takes a frightened step back.
Tears rush into her eyes.
She stares at the man who once gave her everything, unable to believe he is speaking to her this way.
Finally, she turns and runs down the hall in tears.
Mom watches the whole thing.
Her mouth opens, but no words come out.
Elliot slams the door shut in her face.