Chapter 2: A Stranger’s Wedding Photo

The phone rang and rang. I almost hung up. Then, finally, Harper picked up.

Each ring made my anxiety ratchet up a notch. I nearly hung up twice, but then her voice came through, tinny and distant.

"What do you want?"

Her voice was colder than I’d ever heard.

No "Hey, Maya!" No warmth.

Just flat, clipped words.

It stung more than I expected.

I hesitated, thrown off by her tone.

I scratched my cheek, feeling lost at her icy tone.

My nails left faint marks on my skin. I tried to remember the last time we’d fought, but nothing came to mind. My mind was a blank slate for everything after college.

When I didn’t say anything, Harper got anxious instead.

"Maya Evans, say something. Didn’t you say you’d never call me again?"

Her voice wavered, like she was fighting off old hurt. I could picture her on the other end, pacing, arms crossed defensively. The pain in her voice made my chest tighten.

Good grief, what on earth did I do in these ten years?

I ran my fingers through my hair, tugging at the ends. I tried to piece together what could have happened to make Harper sound like a stranger. The silence between us was thick with things unsaid.

I thought for a second and said, "Harper, I know you’re tough, but can you please not right now? I just want to ask—who’s my husband?"

My voice cracked on the last word. I tried to keep it light, but the question hung in the air, heavy and desperate. I needed answers, even if I sounded like a lunatic.

Honestly, that was my biggest concern.

Everything else could wait. I needed to know who I’d married, who this little boy belonged to, and how my life had spun so far off course.

Harper went silent for a moment, then asked, "Maya, are you off your meds or something?"

Her words landed like a slap. There was a hint of concern beneath the sarcasm, but mostly she sounded wary, like she was bracing for a meltdown.

Huh? Ten years later, Harper’s got jokes.

I let out a shaky laugh, trying to play it cool. "Come on, Harper. I’m serious."

"I’m serious! Did you forget your meds? Whatever, just stay put. I’m in line for a COVID test. I’ll swing by in a bit!"

Her tone shifted, urgency replacing sarcasm. I heard muffled announcements in the background and the sound of shuffling feet. It sounded busy, chaotic.

She sounded pretty serious. Maybe I wasn’t stuck in some time loop, just sick?

I frowned, chewing my lip. Maybe this was some fever dream after all. Maybe I’d been sick for days and was just now waking up. But if that was true, why did everything feel so real?

And what’s a COVID test? You have to wait in line for that?

The last thing I remembered was college, not a pandemic. I tried to recall if I’d ever heard of COVID before, but my mind came up blank. The world had changed, and I’d missed the memo.

Just as I put down my phone, a housekeeper knocked softly at the door, asking if I was feeling better and if I wanted something to eat.

Her voice was gentle, almost rehearsed, with a hint of concern. She wore a crisp uniform and stood just inside the doorway, hands folded politely. The way she spoke to me—careful, almost nervous—made me feel like a guest in my own home.

Looks like this mystery husband of mine is pretty well-off.

I scanned the room again, taking in the high ceilings, crown molding, and the plush carpet under my feet. This wasn’t just any house—it was the kind of place I’d only ever seen on HGTV or in those glossy real estate brochures. For a second, I almost smiled.

I nodded, and soon, a spread of fancy dishes was set out for me—steak, mashed potatoes, roasted veggies, even a little apple pie.

The aroma made my stomach growl. Everything was plated beautifully, like something out of a food magazine. I realized I was starving and didn’t even care if it was all a hallucination.

I didn’t expect that ten years later, I’d actually be living the kind of life I’d always dreamed about.

I picked up the fork and marveled at how heavy it felt, like real silver. The food tasted even better than it looked. For a moment, I let myself enjoy it, pretending I belonged here. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

I tried to casually ask about my “husband.”

I cleared my throat, trying to sound nonchalant. "So, um, is Mr. Evans home?" I watched her face closely, searching for any reaction.

She looked a bit surprised, and just said my husband was away on a business trip and wouldn’t be back until next month.

She hesitated, glancing at me with confusion. "Mr. Carter is traveling for work, Mrs. Evans. He’s not expected back until next month." Her words were polite but guarded, as if she was afraid I’d snap at her for saying the wrong thing.

That’s good news—by the time he gets back, I should have this all figured out.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. One less thing to worry about. I could use the time to get my bearings, maybe even snoop around for more answers.