His Two Wives

This story is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are imaginary. Any resemblance to real persons or events is purely coincidental.

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Snowflakes drifted through the New York air, soft as ash, melting the moment they touched Dawn Collins's lashes. Her breath came out in visible clouds as she hurried down the icy streets, her boots crunching through slush. The city still wore its Christmas smile-twinkling lights strung across balconies, wreaths clinging stubbornly to doors, and a half-deflated Santa slumped beside a café window. The holiday had ended, but the city wasn't ready to let go.

Dawn tightened her faded coat around her and checked the glowing screen of her phone. It led her toward a small pizzeria a few blocks ahead. It wasn't her dream job, but it was a job-and that was enough for now.

She was halfway across the street when a horn blared.

"Watch it!"

Her heart leapt into her throat as a sleek black car screeched to a halt inches from her knees. She stumbled back, chest heaving, eyes wide.

The tinted window rolled down to reveal an older woman-elegant, perfectly poised, and furious.

"Are you out of your mind? Do you have a death wish?" the woman barked, her tone sharp enough to cut glass.

"I-I'm sorry," Dawn stammered, her breath hitching.

The woman muttered something under her breath, slammed the window up, and sped off, leaving Dawn in a rush of exhaust and humiliation.

For a second, she just stood there, clutching her chest, her pulse thrumming in her ears. Then she shook her head. Get it together, Dawn. You've survived worse.

Because she had.

It had been nine long years since the accident that took her parents-nine years since her world collapsed and she became more sister than child. Her aunt, Peige, had taken them in, but the woman's home had been a cold kind of prison. The chores, the shouting, the endless reminders that they were charity cases. At seventeen, Dawn had fled, her siblings in tow, taking every odd job she could find. Babysitting, mopping floors, scrubbing dishes-whatever it took to feed them.

By twenty, she'd scraped together enough for a one-bedroom apartment. Small, yes-but theirs.

Now, at twenty-three, every day was a battle between exhaustion and hope. Rent. Tuition. Groceries. Life was an endless balancing act, and one wrong move could send everything crashing down.

She exhaled shakily, lifting her gaze to the glowing sign ahead. "This is it," she whispered.

The moment she stepped inside the pizzeria, warmth enveloped her like a hug she hadn't realized she needed. The air smelled of baked bread and melted cheese, the kind of comfort that reminded her of better days.

She was about to approach the counter when a man's furious voice cut through the chatter.

"You treat me like trash, and I've had enough!"

Dawn turned just as the young man ripped off his apron, threw it at his boss, and stormed