Stolen Wife's Revenge

My heels clicked against the polished marble floor of the Los Angeles County courthouse, the sound echoing in the cavernous space. I adjusted my position in the wheelchair, a constant reminder of the accident that had changed everything five years ago. The courthouse clerk's nameplate read 'Marianne,' and she offered me a perfunctory smile as I approached her desk.

"Good morning," I said, my voice steady despite the anxiety fluttering in my chest. "I need a certified copy of my marriage record, please. Isabella and Marcus Sterling, married June 12th, 2018."

She nodded, fingers flying across her keyboard. "ID, please?"

I handed over my driver's license, watching as she typed in my information. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a harsh glow that made everything seem slightly unreal.

"Just a moment, Mrs. Sterling," she said, rising from her seat and disappearing into a back room.

I waited, absently twisting my wedding ring. Marcus had been so attentive this morning before I left our Manhattan penthouse, kissing my forehead and reminding me to call if I needed anything during my trip to LA. "I'll miss you every second," he'd said, his dark eyes holding mine with what I'd always believed was love.

Marianne returned with a folder, her expression now professionally neutral. "Here you go, ma'am."

I opened the folder, expecting to see our marriage certificate. Instead, I found myself staring at a document titled "Decree of Divorce."

My heart stuttered. "There must be some mistake," I said, my voice suddenly thin. "I'm looking for my marriage certificate, not... this."

Marianne leaned forward, pointing to the date. "According to our records, your divorce was finalized three years ago, Mrs.—Ms. Hayes."

The room tilted sideways. Three years ago? I'd never filed for divorce. I'd never signed divorce papers. I'd been living as Marcus Sterling's wife for the past five years.

"This is impossible," I whispered, scanning the document. There was my name, and there was Marcus's signature—bold and confident as always. But where my signature should have been was something that looked nothing like my handwriting.

"I never signed this," I said, louder now. "I never agreed to a divorce."

Marianne's eyes widened slightly, the first crack in her professional demeanor. "I... I'm sorry, but the court records show this divorce was processed and finalized. If there's been some kind of fraud..."

Fraud. The word hung in the air between us like a blade.

I left the courthouse in a daze, my mind racing. Back in my hotel room, I opened my laptop with trembling hands. I needed proof—something to make sense of this nightmare. I logged into the Sterling family cloud account, where Marcus insisted we store all our photos and important documents "for safekeeping."

I navigated to a folder I'd never explored before, labeled simply "Personal." It was password protected, but I knew all of Marcus's passwords—or at least, I thought I did. On a hunch, I tried his mother's maiden name combined with his birth year.

The folder opened.