Chapter 11: The Doubt

The words hung between them like a curse.

I stared at Gabriel, throat tight, every muscle rigid. I wanted to scream, to throw the phone across the room, to shake him until the doubt rattled out of him. Instead, my voice came out quiet. Dangerous.

“You don’t get to say that.”

Gabriel winced, dragging a hand down his face. “Eve, I’m trying to make sense of this. She talks like—like there was something real. And the way she—” He cut himself off, fists pressing into the table as though to steady himself. “What if I really betrayed you?”

“You did.” My answer was sharp, immediate, a blade slicing the air. His head snapped toward me. “You don’t remember, but I do. You slept with her. You promised her things. You destroyed us.”

The words tasted like acid on my tongue, but I forced them out, because he needed to hear them. Because someone had to tell the truth.

Gabriel staggered back a step, like my confession was a blow to the chest. His eyes were wide, haunted. “Eve… if that’s true—if I really did that—why are you still here?”

My breath caught. I hadn’t expected the question. I hadn’t prepared an answer.

My mind flashed: the divorce papers, his accident, his broken body in the hospital bed, the moment his eyes had opened and he had looked at me like I was the only woman in the world.

Because he was mine. Because despite everything, he was still mine

But I couldn’t say that. Not now. Not when he was teetering on the edge of remembering—or worse, believing Emily.

So instead I whispered, “Because I believe people can change.”

Gabriel’s eyes softened, just slightly. Enough to twist the knife deeper. “What if I can’t?”

My chest ached. I stepped closer, gripping his arm. “Then I’ll fight for you anyway.”

For a moment, just a heartbeat, I thought he might reach for her. His hand twitched, his gaze dropped to hers. And then—

The phone buzzed again.

Emily’s name.

This time, Gabriel didn’t move to answer. He didn’t even look at me. His expression was unreadable, carved in shadow.

And me, staring at that name glowing on the screen, felt something cold and sharp pierce my chest.

Because the question was no longer whether Gabriel loved Emily once.

The question was—would he love her again?

Emily sat cross-legged on the edge of her bed, the glow of the phone screen lighting her sharp smile. Her glass of wine sat untouched on the nightstand, condensation dripping down the stem. She didn’t need the drink—victory was intoxicating enough.

She’d timed it perfectly.

The photos. The caption. The text.

The phone buzzed in her palm, and she nearly laughed. Hook, line, sinker.

Her thumb hovered over the green answer button. She could already hear his voice, low and confused, hungry for answers. She’d soothe him, remind him of who she was, what they’d shared, how he’d once chosen her over that dull wife of his. She’d feed him pieces of their past until he believed them again.

She adjusted her silk robe, the neckline slipping strategically low, as if he could see her through the call. “Come on, Gabriel,” she whispered to herself. “Pick me.”

The buzz stopped.

Emily froze. Her smile faltered. She stared at the screen. No answer.

And then—another vibration. Incoming call. Her eyes lit up. Gabriel.

She tapped accept and lifted the phone to her ear, lips already curving into that sultry tone he used to melt for.

“Gabriel, darling—”

But it wasn’t Gabriel.

It was me.

My voice was sharp, controlled, like a blade wrapped in velvet.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

Emily’s smile snapped back into place, though her heart had kicked hard in her chest. Of course I would meddle. Of course I wouldn't let them talk alone.

Emily leaned back against the pillows, twirling a lock of hair around her finger, as if this was all part of her plan. “Oh, Eve,” she purred, amused. “So you finally grew a spine.”

There was silence for half a beat, then my voice again—lower this time. Steadier.

“Stay away from my husband.”

Emily laughed, sharp and cruel. “Your husband? You’re a placeholder. He came to me for love, for passion, for everything you couldn’t give. He’ll remember. Eve. And when he does…” She let her voice drop into a whisper. “…you’ll be nothing but a footnote.”

For a moment, she swore she could hear my breathing quicken. She imagined her stiff in her perfect little kitchen, clenching her jaw, trying not to scream.

Perfect.

“Sweet dreams, Eve,” Emily added, before hanging up first.

She dropped the phone onto the sheets and exhaled, her smile curling back into satisfaction. I might have intercepted the call, but it didn’t matter.

Because doubt was already planted in Gabriel.

And doubt always bloomed.

The line went dead.

I lowered the phone slowly, like it was a weapon that had just gone off in my hand. My thumb hovered over the screen, but the call had ended. Emily’s voice still lingered in my ears, soft and venomous, the kind of poison that seeps under your skin and won’t leave.

“…you’ll be nothing but a footnote.”

My stomach lurched. I pressed the phone against the counter, gripping the edge of the granite until my knuckles turned white. For a split second, I couldn’t breathe. Emily’s words weren’t just an attack. They were a reminder of the deepest fear I had never dared to admit out loud—

Maybe I was the placeholder.

That Gabriel had chosen Emily once, and given the chance, he might do it again.

My pulse thudded in my throat. I thought of Gabriel in the other room, probably confused by the sudden phone call, maybe even curious. What if Emily was right? What if the amnesia was just a wall holding everything back, and one day it would all flood through? The memories. The affair. The promises.

And then what?

Would he look at me—the wife who kept his house, bore his child, stood by him—and realize I was never enough?

The thought stabbed through me, raw and merciless.

I slapped the phone down hard enough that it rattled against the counter. I dragged both hands over my face, pressing my palms into my eyes until colors swirled in the darkness. I couldn’t let this spiral. I couldn’t give Emily the satisfaction of breaking me, not again.

My breathing steadied, but only just. Anger replaced the fear, filling my chest like fire eating up oxygen.

Emily wanted me destroyed. She wanted me erased.

Fine.

But I had something Emily didn’t—something she couldn’t manufacture with fake smiles and staged sonograms.

History.

Years of it. The kind of love built brick by brick, not stolen in the shadows. Gabriel had loved me once, and I believed—God, I had to believe—that love wasn’t gone.

I straightened, my reflection staring back at me from the dark window over the sink. My face looked different somehow—harsher lines around my eyes, a set to my jaw I hadn’t seen in years.

Emily had declared war.

And me? I wasn’t going to cower anymore.

Not in my own home. Not in my own marriage.

The phone buzzed again. I flinched, then forced myself to look.

A message.

From an unknown number.

My thumb hesitated, but I opened it.

One photo.

Gabriel, asleep. In a hospital bed. A date stamp from the night of the crash. Emily in the corner of the frame, smiling faintly, almost tender.

The caption beneath it:

“First night I stayed with him. Where were you, wife?”

My heart stopped.

My grip tightened on the phone, rage and dread tangling in my chest until I could barely tell them apart. Emily wasn’t just haunting me with words anymore. I had proof. Receipts. Evidence that could twist Gabriel’s fragile memory at any moment.

I forced a slow inhale through my nose, lowering the phone like it weighed a hundred pounds.

The thought pulsed sharp and clear:

If Emily wanted to play dirty, I would match her.

No. I’d beat her.

I looked toward the hallway where Gabriel had disappeared earlier, and whispered to myself, steady now, steel in my voice:

“You’re mine, Gabriel. And I’m not letting her take you.”