Chapter 1

The drive to Mark' s father' s 60th birthday party felt good, the kind of easy and familiar trip you take to see family, because that' s what Mark was, he was family. We had been best friends since we were kids, the kind of friendship that felt more like brotherhood. I had a gift on the passenger seat, a nice bottle of aged whiskey that I knew his dad would love. I was humming along to the radio, feeling relaxed. My wife, Sarah, was supposed to be in London for a week-long work conference, a big opportunity for her.

She had called me yesterday, her voice sounding a little strained, telling me she had sprained her ankle badly after tripping on a cobblestone street. She said she couldn't fly home early as we had planned, the doctor had advised against it. I felt a pang of sympathy for her, stuck in a hotel room with a bad injury, and I missed her.

I pulled into the long driveway of Mark' s parents' house, a big, beautiful home always filled with warmth and laughter. Cars were already lining the grass, the party was in full swing. I grabbed the gift and headed towards the front door, the sound of chatter and music spilling out into the evening air.

I stepped inside, my eyes scanning the crowd for Mark or his mom, ready to deliver my gift and a hug. The living room was packed with relatives and friends, all smiling, all celebrating. Then I saw it, a scene so bizarre and out of place that my brain struggled to process it.

There, in the center of the room, was my wife, Sarah.

She was kneeling on a red cushion, her head bowed respectfully. She was wearing a beautiful silk dress I had never seen before. In her hands, she held a delicate teacup, which she was offering to Mark' s parents, who were seated in two large armchairs. It was a tea ceremony, a formal, traditional gesture.

My wife, who was supposed to be thousands of miles away in London, nursing a sprained ankle, was here, in the middle of this intensely personal family ritual.

My feet felt glued to the floor, the whiskey bottle suddenly feeling heavy and cold in my hand. I couldn't move, couldn't speak.

A woman I vaguely recognized as one of Mark' s aunts clapped her hands together, her voice booming over the general murmur.

"Look at her! What a good, respectful daughter-in-law! Mark, you found a real treasure. Your father is so happy, you can see it on his face."

Other relatives chimed in, their voices a chorus of praise.

"She' s so graceful."

"Absolutely beautiful."

"Mark' s father can rest easy now, seeing his son so well settled."

The words washed over me, a wave of confusion and nausea. Daughter-in-law? What were they talking about? Sarah was my wife. I was the one who stood with her at the altar. I was the one who held her hand when she was sick. I was the one she was supposed to be married to.

Sarah must have sensed my presence because her head snapped up, her eyes locking with mine across the room. The polite, serene smile on her face vanished, replaced by a flicker of pure panic. She quickly finished the ceremony, placing the teacup on a nearby table before scrambling to her feet and rushing towards me.

She grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong, and pulled me towards a quiet hallway, away from the prying eyes of the party guests.

"Liam, what are you doing here?" she hissed, her voice a frantic whisper.

"What am I doing here?" I repeated, my own voice dangerously low. "I could ask you the same question. Last I heard, you were in London with a sprained ankle."

"Liam, please, just listen to me," she said, her eyes darting nervously back towards the living room. "It' s not what it looks like. Mark' s father... he has terminal liver cancer. The doctors gave him maybe a few months."

Her voice was filled with a practiced sadness, the kind she used when she wanted me to feel sorry for her.

"His dying wish," she continued, lowering her voice even more, "is to see Mark settled, to see his family complete. Four generations under one roof, that' s all he wants. I' m just... I' m just helping."

"Helping?" The word tasted like poison in my mouth. "Helping how? By pretending to be his daughter-in-law? By lying to me about being in another country? By faking an injury?"

Before she could answer, Mark appeared at the end of the hallway, a casual, easy smile on his face as if nothing in the world was wrong. He walked towards us, slinging an arm around my shoulder.

"Liam! You made it! I was just about to call you," he said, his tone utterly normal, utterly infuriating. He looked from my stony face to Sarah' s panicked one. "Hey, what' s with the long faces? We' re celebrating here."

He then leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, a grotesque parody of our lifelong friendship.

"Look, man, I know this looks a little weird. But it' s just for a few days. Just until my dad... you know. You' ll lend me your wife, right? We' re best friends, you wouldn' t mind, would you?"

I stared at him. At my best friend, the man I would have trusted with my life. He was asking to 'borrow' my wife, as if she were a power tool or a lawnmower. The sheer, unmitigated audacity of it stole my breath. The betrayal was so complete, so shameless, it was almost surreal.

A cold, sharp anger, unlike anything I had ever felt before, cut through the shock. I let out a short, bitter laugh.

I looked from Mark' s smiling face to Sarah' s pleading one.

"A few days?" I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is that all? I guess his dying wish doesn' t include seeing his grandkids, then. Or do you think he' ll live long enough for you two to pop one out?"

The smile vanished from Mark' s face, and Sarah' s eyes widened in horror. The casual charade was over. The real party was just beginning.