The following Saturday morning, Irvin was repairing the loose gate near our driveway when Vanessa walked over wearing a white blouse and jeans that looked far too deliberate for someone who claimed she was only going to check her mail.
“Need help?” she asked him.
Irvin glanced up.
“No, I'm almost done.”
She leaned against the fence.
“You're always fixing something.”
“Old house.”
She laughed.
Then she looked toward me.
I was standing on the porch with a tray of cupcakes.
Vanessa smiled.
“Claire, you should come over tonight.”
“Where?”
“I'm having people over.”
“What people?”
“Neighbors. A few friends.”
I waited.
Then she said, “Irvin should come.”
I stared at her.
She didn't invite me.
Not accidentally.
Not because she forgot.
She simply looked at Irvin and said, “You should come.”
Irvin looked uncomfortable.
“I don't know.”
“It'll be fun.”
I walked down the steps.
“Irvin has plans.”
He looked at me.
“We do?”
I gave him a calm smile.
“We do now.”
Vanessa laughed softly.
“Of course.”
She turned toward him.
“If you change your mind, you know where I am.”
Then she walked away.
Irvin waited until she was out of earshot.
“Did you really just make plans for us?”
“No.”
I smiled.
“I just wanted to see what you'd do.”
He sighed.
“Claire.”
“I know.”
He set down the screwdriver.
“I wasn't going to go.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
He looked at me for another second.
Then he kissed my forehead.
“I love you.”
It should have ended there.
Instead, that evening, Vanessa sent him a message.
He showed it to me.
*You should come by. Everyone is asking where you are.**
I looked at the screen.
“Everyone?”
“There are maybe six people there.”
“How does she know everyone is asking for you?”
He shrugged.
I handed the phone back.
“You can go.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't want her telling herself you stayed home because I was afraid.”
He stared at me.
“You're sure?”
“I am.”
He didn't leave immediately.
That mattered.
He stood there for several seconds, studying my face.
Then he said, “I'll go for a little while.”
“Okay.”
“And I'll come home.”
“I know.”
He left.
I watched his car disappear around the corner.
Then I went into the kitchen and started preparing dough for the next morning.
I didn't sit beside the window.
I didn't check my phone every two minutes.
I didn't imagine what Vanessa might be saying.
At nine forty-five, I heard Irvin's key in the front door.
He walked inside carrying a box.
“What is that?”
He put it on the table.
“Tools.”
I stared at him.
“Why do you have tools?”
“Because Vanessa apparently doesn't own a single screwdriver.”
I laughed despite myself.
He shook his head.
“She asked me to fix a cabinet hinge.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I told her I wasn't going to start doing repairs at her house.”
Something inside me loosened.
Not completely.
But enough.
Then he added, “I also told her the invitations were rude.”
I looked at him.
“What invitations?”
“She invited everyone except you.”
“I know.”
He frowned.
“You shouldn't have had to tell me to notice that.”
I didn't answer.
He sat down.
“I should've handled this better.”
“Yes.”
He smiled faintly.
“Straight to the point.”
“I've been married to you for seventeen years. You don't need a speech.”
He reached for my hand.
“I don't want her.”
“I know.”
But even after he said it, I couldn't forget the way Vanessa had looked at me when she invited him.
She wasn't expecting him to leave me that night.
She was establishing something.
She wanted to show me that she could summon my husband whenever she wanted.
The next morning, she appeared at our house before breakfast.
I was carrying a tray of pastries toward the garage when she called from the driveway.
“Claire!”
I stopped.
She walked toward me.
“I wanted to apologize about last night.”
“Okay.”
“I didn't mean to exclude you.”
I said nothing.
She smiled.
“I just thought Irvin might enjoy meeting people without being attached to his wife.”
There it was.
I set the tray down.
“He isn't attached to me.”
“No?”
“He's married to me.”
She laughed.
“That's not the same thing.”
“Maybe not.”
She stepped closer.
“You know, Claire, people change.”
“So do neighbors.”
Her smile tightened.
Then she walked away.
I thought that would be the end of it.
It wasn't.
The following weekend, Vanessa hosted another gathering.
This time, Irvin received a handwritten invitation.
I recognized his name before he even opened the envelope.
The invitation was addressed only to him.
He looked at me.
“Do you want me to throw this away?”
“No.”
He opened it.
“I'm not going.”
“I didn't ask you to.”
“I know.”
He folded it and placed it on the counter.
I studied him.
“Why aren't you going?”
“Because I'm tired of being used to make you uncomfortable.”
That answer surprised me.
I smiled.
“Good.”
A week later, Vanessa changed tactics.
She stopped asking Irvin directly.
Instead, she started talking about him to me.
One afternoon, while I was bringing groceries from the car, she leaned over her fence.
“Irvin seems unhappy lately.”
I stopped.
“He does?”
“Yes.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No.”
“Then how would you know?”
She shrugged.
“Women can tell.”
I laughed.
“Apparently you know my husband better than I do.”
“Maybe I notice things you don't.”
I carried the groceries inside.
I didn't give her the satisfaction of an argument.
But that evening, I asked Irvin one question.
“Are you unhappy?”
He looked up from his dinner.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
He put down his fork.
“Claire, what's happening?”
I told him what Vanessa had said.
He shook his head.
“She wants you to question me.”
“I know.”
“Then don't.”
“I am trying not to.”
He reached across the table.
“You don't have to defend our marriage every time she says something.”
I looked at his hand.
“I'm not defending it.”
“What are you doing?”
“Watching.”
He understood.
That night, he kissed me before going upstairs.
For the first time since Vanessa moved in, I slept without waking.
Three days later, my phone rang.
It was a local compliance officer.
“Mrs. Carter?”
“Yes?”
“We received a complaint regarding your home bakery.”
My stomach dropped.
“What kind of complaint?”
“The operation may not have the required approval for commercial food preparation.”
I stared at the mixing bowl on my counter.
My bakery wasn't some enormous business.
It was a small operation I had built slowly from home. Birthday cakes. Anniversary desserts. Holiday orders. Wedding cupcakes. People in the neighborhood knew me by name because of it.
The officer continued explaining.
I listened.
Then I asked, “Who filed the complaint?”
There was a pause.
“I can't provide that information.”
Of course.
After the call ended, I stood in the kitchen.
The room suddenly felt different.
The cooling racks.
The mixer.
The labeled containers.
The shelves I had installed myself.
Seventeen years of marriage wasn't the only thing Vanessa had decided to test.
She had found another part of my life that mattered.
And when I looked through the window toward her house, I saw Vanessa standing on her porch.
She lifted her hand.
Not a wave.
A little salute.
Then she went inside.
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: When the Bakery Notice Arrived, Vanessa Offered Me a Deal That Revealed She Had Been Waiting for This Exact Moment
The Woman Next Door Smiled as She Promised to Take My Husband, and I Realized She Had Already Decided Our Marriage Was Hers to Test
Part 2 of 12
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