My Husband’s Mistress Was His Dead Brother’s Wife

I smoothed my navy blue maternity dress over my swollen belly, feeling our baby shift beneath my palm. The catered dinner at my in-laws' home was meant to be a celebration—our last family gathering before I entered my final month of pregnancy. The dining room glowed with soft candlelight, reflecting off the polished silver and crystal glasses.

"I'd like to make a toast," I said, raising my sparkling water. My voice trembled slightly as all eyes turned to me. "To new beginnings, to family, and to our little one who will join us soon."

Everyone raised their glasses—everyone except Ethan, whose attention was fixed on his vibrating phone. His brow furrowed as he glanced at the screen.

"Excuse me," he murmured, pushing back from the table. "I need to take this."

I watched as my husband stepped into the hallway, his voice dropping to that soft, concerned tone he reserved exclusively for Marissa. The same tone I hadn't heard directed at me in months.

"Is everything alright?" Ethan's mother asked, her eyes darting between me and the empty doorway.

"It's Marissa," I explained, the name sitting heavy on my tongue. "She probably needs something."

Ten minutes passed. The conversation around the table resumed, flowing around me like water around a stone. I sat alone with my toast hanging in the air, my untouched food growing cold. When Ethan finally returned, he didn't meet my eyes.

"Marissa's having a rough night," he announced. "She's coming over. I told her she could join us for dessert."

The room fell silent. I felt his mother's pitying glance but kept my eyes fixed on my plate. Another dinner hijacked. Another moment stolen.

---

Rain lashed against the windows as we drove home, the windshield wipers fighting a losing battle against the deluge. I sat in the backseat between Ethan and Marissa, my belly making the space even tighter, more suffocating. The silence in the car was punctuated only by the rhythmic swish of the wipers and the drumming of raindrops.

"Remember that camping trip we took with David?" Marissa said suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet. "When it rained just like this, and he insisted on sleeping outside anyway?"

Ethan chuckled, leaning forward to see past me. "And he came back inside at three in the morning, soaked to the bone."

"He was so stubborn," Marissa sighed, her voice warm with memory.

I pressed my back against the seat, feeling like a ghost between them—present but unseen. They continued trading stories across me, memories of a life I'd never been part of, of a man I'd never met. David, Ethan's brother. Marissa's husband. The ghost that haunted my marriage.

"Careful, Dad," Ethan called to his father who was driving. "The road's really slick."

I felt the car begin to slide before I heard Ethan's warning. The tires lost their grip on the rain-slicked road, and we hydroplaned toward the guardrail. Time stretched like taffy as I instinctively wrapped my arms around my belly,