Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN WITH TWO WEDDING RINGS
Three days after Christmas, Vanessa Hale walked into my apartment building wearing a white fur coat and an expression of practiced innocence.
I watched her through the security monitor.
Her pregnancy was visible beneath a cream-colored dress.
She carried a designer handbag in one hand.
On her left ring finger was a large emerald-cut diamond.
I recognized it immediately.
Vincent had shown me a photograph of that ring two years earlier.
He said he was considering purchasing it as a gift for his mother's sixtieth birthday.
Apparently, his mother hadn't received it.
I called Rebecca before going downstairs.
"Vanessa's here."
"Don't meet with her privately."
"I'm not planning to."
"Keep any conversation in a public area and don't discuss your medical care."
I agreed.
Then I went to the lobby.
Vanessa smiled when she saw me.
"Claire."
"Ms. Hale."
"Can we talk?"
"About what?"
She glanced around.
"This is embarrassing enough without an audience."
"Then perhaps you shouldn't have come to my building."
Her smile tightened.
"I wanted to apologize."
I crossed my arms.
"For sleeping with my husband or for filing a false complaint against me?"
She blinked.
"I didn't file a false complaint."
"Then you're mistaken about what happened."
"Vincent told me you were hysterical when you saw us."
I laughed.
"Hysterical?"
"He said you were struggling emotionally after your miscarriage."
My stomach twisted.
Of all the things Vincent had shared with his mistress, he had chosen my grief.
"Vanessa, I was the physician helping coordinate your emergency care. The medical records will establish the timeline."
She looked briefly uncomfortable.
Then she changed tactics.
"Vincent loves me."
I studied her.
"Then why are you here?"
"He feels guilty about you."
"That's not a problem I can solve."
She touched her belly.
"We've worked so hard for this baby."
There it was again.
Three years.
The same phrase Vincent had used.
I looked at her ring.
"Did you know he was married when you met him?"
She hesitated.
"He said you were separated."
"When?"
"Three years ago."
"Did he show you divorce papers?"
"No."
"Did you ever ask?"
Her expression hardened.
"Vincent told me you refused to let him go."
I stared at her.
For three years, my husband had been telling another woman that I was clinging to a marriage that was already dead.
Meanwhile, he came home to me.
Shared my bed.
Attended family dinners.
Told me he loved me.
And watched me grieve our daughter.
"You need to leave," I said.
Vanessa stepped closer.
"You don't understand. He can't lose this baby."
I stopped.
"What?"
Her eyes widened slightly.
Then she looked away.
"He's been through enough."
"So have I."
I turned toward the elevator.
She called after me.
"Claire, if you truly loved him, you'd let him be happy."
I looked back.
"I am letting him go. You're the one standing in my lobby trying to convince me that I owe you permission."
Then I walked away.
---
That afternoon, Rebecca called with news from Connecticut.
She had contacted the appropriate public records office and initiated a formal search concerning the alleged second marriage.
"There's something strange," she said.
"How strange?"
"We've located an application bearing Vincent's name, but we haven't verified a valid marriage certificate."
"What does that mean?"
"It means they may have held a ceremony, but we don't yet know whether it created a legally recognized marriage."
I leaned against the counter.
"Could Vincent have used false information?"
"Possibly. Or the ceremony might have been symbolic. We need the original records."
"Then why did Vanessa call him her husband?"
"That may be what she believes."
I stared out the window.
A cold rain had begun to fall.
"Rebecca, I think they're both lying."
"About what?"
"I don't know yet."
---
That evening, Vincent's mother called.
Margaret Moretti and I had once been close.
She taught me how to make her family's Christmas cookies.
I helped her through knee surgery.
She called me the daughter she never had.
But during the last year, her affection had cooled.
She stopped inviting me to lunches.
She began praising Vanessa, whom she introduced as a charitable friend of the family.
Now I understood why.
"Claire," Margaret said sharply, "you need to stop humiliating my son."
I closed my eyes.
"Hello to you too."
"Divorce papers delivered at the hospital? On Christmas Eve?"
"Your son brought his pregnant mistress into my emergency department."
"Vanessa is not his mistress."
My blood chilled.
"What is she?"
Margaret hesitated.
Then she said, "She's the woman who can give him the family he's always wanted."
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
She knew about Grace.
She knew what I had lost.
And she had just used my daughter's death as a reason to replace me.
I spoke quietly.
"Margaret, I hope your son is worth the relationship you just destroyed."
Then I ended the call.
A minute later, a message arrived from an unknown number.
Ask Margaret why Vanessa needed a new identity in 2022.
Attached was a photograph of an old driver's license.
The woman's face belonged to Vanessa.
But the name did not.
It read:
May you like
NATALIE REED.
---
