**The Second Wife**
I was certain my former husband would soon flee from this woman.
Ella was not from his worldbrash in manner, wildly unpredictable, a desperate adventurer. She was six years older than Victor. To be fair, she was attractive, always dressed with taste, and had a way of wrapping herself in mystery. But the moment Ella spoke, the illusion vanished. Victor, my ex-husband, was her oppositegentle, considerate, calm. You might ask why we divorced if he was so kind. The fault was mine. I confess
When Victor and I parted, he threw himself into reckless living. First, he toyed with affection for a colleague, Agnes. She had long fancied him, dreaming of becoming his wife. Agnes had a young son who needed a father, and she was eager to mother Victor as well. She doted on himcooked lavish meals, pressed his shirts to perfection, all but tied his scarf for him before he stepped outside. But Victor wanted a wife, not another mother. The office romance lasted barely three months before he escaped her smothering care.
Then my closest friendnow formerOlivia caught him. Victor had always fancied her, though he thought I never noticed. Free of husbands and children, Olivia was hungry for love. The moment she sensed the crack in our marriage, she became his shoulder to cry on. Victor drifted between her and our empty home for a year, his savings steadily draining into Olivias hands. A wedding seemed inevitable.
Then Ella appeared out of nowhere. Victor met her through mutual friends who insisted they were perfectboth single, both with children, why not love each other? When Victor mentioned Olivia, Ella scoffed. “A fiancée isnt a wifeshe can be un-fiancéed just as easily!”
Olivia had to step aside. Ella dragged Victor to the registry office, moved in with her daughter Irene, and settled into his flat. By then, Victor and I had sold our shared home. Irene was fourteen, a girl who tested her mothers patiencerunning off, too wild for her age.
Once married, Ella convinced Victors mother to swap her two-bedroom flat for a smaller one. “Its too much space for you,” she insisted. His mother obeyed, wanting only peace for her son. With the leftover money, Ella renovated Victors flat and registered herself and Irene there.
Ella had a knack for troublea stolen fur coat, a cash register shortfall, insulting wealthy customers. Her employer tolerated it only as long as Victor quietly repaid every loss. The moment the last debt was settled, she was sacked. Victor suggested she stay homecheaper that way. Ella agreed but never picked up a knitting needle or frying pan. Instead, she filled her days with café gossip, beauty salons, and shopping. Victor returned from work to fry himself eggs and wait. The old saying held truethe wife feasts with friends while the husband gnaws bones.
Every summer, they toured Europe. Victor loved deeply, extravagantly.
Time passed.
At twenty, Irene had a child by some unknown mana baby brought home in disgrace. Ella took over the boys care while Irene paraded a string of “fathers” through the house. Victor grew furious, so Ella persuaded him to buy Irene a flatbetter yet, a three-bedroom. “A proper home will help her find a husband,” she argued. Victor bought it. Soon, a decent man moved in, loving both Irene and the boy. But Ella despised himhis wages were too small. She nagged endlessly about wealthier suitors until he left. Now Victor supports Ellas grandson too.
Our daughter wished to celebrate her thirtieth with her fractured family. Ella refused to let Victor go alone. At the table, after wine loosened her tongue, Ella boasted of the men she truly desiredruffians, brutes. Victor, she claimed, was never her type. Yet he was her golden goose. “Pout, and hed walk through fire. With him, lifes a breeze!”
Bored of domestic idleness, she meddled in Victors businessand sank it. Now he borrows from our son-in-law.
Such is their love.
Victor and Ella married twenty years ago. Theyre still together. I dont understand
