The Ruined Wife: Psychological Thriller

by Marin Montgomery

  I glance down at my hands picking at a hangnail, unable to hope that there’s a chance, a chance in hell this might go differently.

  “I’m sure your attorney will be in touch.” She pats my arm gently, moving it away as soon as a guard looks over. “I’m sorry you couldn’t get out on bail.”

  I nod, unable to speak, the tears threatening to unleash a torrent of emotion.

  The judge opted to make a lesson out of my case. Even with no prior record and my standing in the community, the judge opted to decline bail. I’d be sitting here until the trial started in a couple of weeks.

  33

  Steven

  When I’m released from the hospital, the world has changed, or maybe my perception has. My speech is still lacking, I stutter and stumble over words. I’m unable to drive, my vision still catching up, same with my ability to concentrate.

  Livvie is with my parents. They’ve been in a rental for the last two months waiting me out. My dad drives his borrowed mini-van, the back filled with balloons and flowers, various news channels ready to pounce as I’m wheeled out, cameras and videographers perched on the sidewalk, the wheelchair unnecessary in my mind, vital in my nurses’.

  She’s smiling, her face shaped like mine, her eyes like her mom’s, the green and hazel eyes shiny with tears, a sign in her hands that says, ‘Welcome Home Daddy’ with rainbows and a picture of a dog, probably her friend Meredith’s dog. She waits for the sliding door to open and almost trips running to me as fast as her spindly legs will carry her. She’s too skinny. Same with my mom, her pantsuit hangs on her. My father holds onto her arm as he comes around to her side to help her out. Both my parents embrace me as Livvie climbs in my lap.

  This attention makes me cringe. I’m grateful for the dark shades and the nurses hurrying us toward the waiting vehicle. I never wanted notoriety—being known for cheating on your wife, impregnating a one-night stand, and now the inclusion of murder—is a tough pill to swallow. I’ve had the last ten days to process all that happened. A therapist. A doctor. They’ve been working with me warning me of the firestorm that’s to come.

  I’m a teacher. A middle school teacher. Now I’m a joke.

  As Livvie hugs me, and I tug at her pigtails, I’m reminded of her mother. The love of my life. The screw-up I made, the repercussions. I let out a long sigh.

  The events of that night have been slow to return, they come in waves, effects of having a stroke. I’m supposed to meet with the DA’s office when I’m released. Time is of the essence since Alastair is awaiting trial. All of our lives changed that night, a woman I barely know lost her life and a baby. I can’t say my child. It’s not fair, I know, but I’ve distanced myself from that. It was a fetus that died. It’s not meant to be part of our lives.

  My parents surprise me on the way home mentioning that a few friends and colleagues are waiting for us at their rental. I’m not in the mood for visitors, sullen as I contemplate the next steps of life on my own.

  There’s not a few but many. At least thirty people are hiding in the garage when my dad pulls up to the house, clicking the garage remote, opening it to reveal a surprise party, people shouting congratulations and get well and a platitude of well wishes. The garage has been transformed into a party room, plastic tables and chairs, punch, and food. I’ve lost a lot of weight, pants my parents brought hang on me.

  After I talk with a couple of colleagues, nibble some appetizers, and snuggle Livvie to my chest, I see a familiar face walking up the driveway.

  It’s Mara. Black suit, black pumps, red blouse. Choker.

  She smiles when she sees me, introduces herself to my parents, and they cringe when she mentions she’s a divorce attorney. Regardless of their feelings now, d-i-v-o-r-c-e is still a dirty word.

  “Steven, it’s wonderful to see you.” Mara had sent flowers, had helped out with Livvie. She’s having a tough time without her mom and is in a resentment phase I’ve been told.

  She gives me a light peck on the cheek and sits down, a smile lighting her face. “I just came from seeing Aly.”

  I suck in a breath. I ruined that woman. My wife. She’s behind bars because of me. Running a hand through my hair, I lower my voice. “How’s she doing?” It’s such a simple question, such a dumb one, to ask how your wife is doing under these circumstances.

  “I told her you were being released.” Mara grins. “We have hope now.”

  “The one thing I can give back to her is her life.” I manage a small, but sad smile. “She deserves that much.

  Two days later, I sit in a stuffy office with my attorney and the prosecutor. Two detectives are also present, the video camera turned on, watching my every inflection and movement as we spend hours dissecting my side of the story.

  It’s twisted, from the daycare drowning to the one-night stand, a chain of events I’d never have believed to be anything but fiction.

  Yet, I sit here, and I go through the motions, betraying a slew of emotion at times. I hurt two people that mean the world to me. A daughter that’s in therapy and a wife locked up.

  The male detective, a bald man who goes by ‘Rodgers,’ asks me to lay out details of the night. He’s wearing a bowtie and bright patterned socks under his khaki suit.

  “She was in my house. Hiding, I assume in one of the bedrooms. I didn’t see her come out, just heard her when she appeared in the living room.” I fold my hands in my lap, hope the detectives and the prosecutor don’t see them trembling.

  “And this is Brianna Crawford?” The woman detective, name badge says Sarah Fernandez, a tall Hispanic woman, asks.

  “Yes.”

  “And Mara Kauffman, your attorney, had just left?”

  I nod.

  “Can you please say that for the record?”

  “Yes, Mara had paid a visit to let me know that Brianna was a disturbed young woman.”

  “What happened after Mara left and Brianna appeared?” Fernandez adds. “This was an unplanned visit, correct?”

  “Your wife was out of town?” The bald one inquires.

  “Alastair was supposed to be home the next day. Her conference ended, and she flew home early.”

  “But she didn’t communicate that to you?”

  “No.” I sigh. “We weren’t on very good terms if you can imagine.”

  Fernandez insinuates, “All the more reason to want your mistress dead.”

  “Brianna appeared and told me she had lost her baby and husband as a result of my wife handling the public relations for the daycare that was in charge of her toddler the day it drowned. She wanted to get even, ruin my family.” I wring my hands in my lap.

  “Why wouldn’t she get revenge on the daycare owner or employee who was there?” The prosecutor, some know-it-all mid-thirties suit and tie, raises an eyebrow. “Would make more sense.”

  “Objection,” my attorney interrupts. ‘This is all speculation. You’re asking my client to explain why a mentally unsound young woman plotted revenge.”

  “I don’t know why Brianna did what she did.” I lean over the table, resting my arms on the dented wood. “I made a mistake, it was one time, and it culminated into something bigger than all of us.”

  “So back to that night…” Rodgers butts in.

  “She told me to get naked, wanted me in the hot tub. I believe because it would look more like a heart attack or stroke.”

  “But it was a mini-stroke.” Fernandez taps her notepad.

  “She injected me with a syringe. I don’t know what chemical compound it was. It mirrors the same symptoms as an attack or stroke and is unnoticeable in the bloodstream.” I shudder as I think about the sudden paralysis as I watched my life fall apart before my eyes but couldn’t utter a word. “The doctors can confirm that with their toxicology reports.”

  “You’re in the hot tub, and your wife comes home?” Rodgers looks down at my file.

  “Uh-huh, I mean yes, Alastair comes home.”

  “And sees you?”

  �
��Yes, she comes outside through the back office sliding door, sees Brianna on top of me and screams at us. At this point, I can see what’s happening but can’t formulate words.”

  “Walk us through what happened next.” The prosecutor has to make himself relevant again, his eyes scanning the room, barely present.

  “Brianna got out of the hot tub. She’s naked. I believe she was in there trying to finish me off. This was her intent all along, for Alastair to take the blame for my murder. It went awry when Alastair accused her of stealing her wedding ring. Brianna walked away from the hot tub and Alastair followed.”

  Fernandez raises an eyebrow. “And Alastair pushed Brianna?”

  “No.” I’m firm, looking all three of them directly in their eyes. “Alastair didn’t push Brianna. Brianna tripped. There’s a marble table in the backyard. It’s insanely heavy, took three men to move it back there. She tripped when she lost her balance and landed wrong. A freak accident.”

  “Where was Alastair when this happened?” Rodgers chimes in.

  “Behind her,” I add. “Yes, Alastair was angry. A tussle might have ensued had this not happened. But this is how it went.”

  The prosecutor jumps in. “What you’re telling us is even though Alastair Adams is sitting in prison, she’s innocent?”

  I nod. “Absolutely.”

  Did my wife push Brianna?

  Definitely.

  Was it a reaction to the sick, twisted, jumbled mess?

  Of course.

  And if I could do this one thing for her, since I know she didn’t intend to kill Brianna or the baby, I would. I know her, inside and out, almost half my life spent with her as a couple. I’ve seen her as a mother, never a monster.

  The detectives and the prosecutor thank me for my time after asking me to tell the same version multiple times, grilling me on different points, picking apart the night and the timeline. I stay on course, remain strong and unwavering in my version of the truth.

  They say they will be in touch.

  34

  Alastair

  I breathe in the fresh air, shutting my eyes tight against the sunlight. It’s not like I couldn’t feel the same warmth from outside in the prison yard, it’s that freedom has a different sentiment to it.

  ‘Freedom.’ I roll the word over on my tongue repeating it multiple times. Carrying a small plastic bag with the remnants of what I came in with, I’m dressed in jeans and a plain V-neck tee Mara brought, my clothes from before sagging on my bony frame.

  Her ivory Cadillac is in the parking lot, idling, as she waves and jumps out of the car, dropping a cigarette on the ground, embracing me in a tight hug. She kisses my cheek, and I hold her, human touch one I’ve missed.

  “Let’s get you back to Liv.” I sigh contentedly, the thought of my daughter causes a flood of emotions, tears streaming down my cheeks. We decided it was best she didn’t come to the prison to greet me. She’s being driven to a resort style hotel so we can spend the afternoon together. I’ve still got to pick up the pieces of my life, the direction my life is headed now on a path much different than a week ago.

  After the district attorney dropped the charges due to insufficient evidence, paperwork was submitted and a release date set. I spent every night pacing the cell or staring at the ceiling, sure they’d change their minds, that this was a mistake. I had only let myself begin to think I might have a lesser sentence after Mara told me Steven was now awake. I had never dreamed I would walk out a free woman.

  As we pass the scenery, I observe it differently. It was always present, speeding by just like life, too minimal to deserve my attention, the background to a life full of noise and flutter. Now I see it, I really see it. The cactus, the cars, the desert landscaping, the barren land, and the never-ending sprawl of the city.

  Epilogue

  Steven

  It’s been a few months, and we’ve been adjusting to a new normal, not the intended one at this point in our lives, but a decent one.

  After Alastair reunited with Livvie, she made every effort to spend as much time with her as she could until we figured out the next steps. She ended up staying with Mara as she picked up the pieces and decided what to do with the rest of her life.

  The city, as big as it is in size, is too small to rebuild when your reputations are shot. I’m ‘that teacher that banged the dead woman’ and an ‘illicit baby-maker,’ and Alastair is the ‘deranged baby-killer’ or the ‘saintly wife’ depending on whom you ask.

  Together we both decided a move was in the cards, separately.

  She filed for divorce.

  It was expected.

  We had some conversations after she was released, and it was the next step. There are some situations in life out of your control and some that aren’t. I played my cards that day in the bar, took a chance, a risky gamble, and it cost us everything. I’m done feeling sorry for myself. It is what it is. There’s not a day that goes by I don’t see Brianna’s face, haunted, when I shut my eyes. The same goes for my wife, her beautiful hazel and green eyes, the tortured look on them as I told her about my affair.

  Now we are in a smaller city, a few hours north of where we came from, both finding our way. We talk, are amicable, and try to co-parent Livvie as best as we can.

  I teach eighth-grade biology now, and Alastair is passionate about the law and assisting those that can’t afford legal representation. She works for a non-profit that specializes in this.

  We will never be normal again, bound together by more than most—it’s more than a child and marriage.

  It’s murder. Or in my mind… justifiable homicide.

  About the Author

  Marin Montgomery grew up in the midwest but traded in the cornfields for desert and now calls Arizona her home.

  Her debut novel, Because You're Mine, was just released.

  When she's not thinking up her next psych twist, she can be found playing a mean game of Scrabble, binge-watching a variety of television shows, and hanging with her ten-month old Goldendoodle, Dashiell.

  Connect with Marin at https://www.facebook.com/authormarinmontgomery/ or www.marinmontgomery.com