His Two Wives

This story is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are imaginary. Any resemblance to real persons or events is purely coincidental.

* * * * * *

Snowflakes drifted through the New York air, soft as ash, melting the moment they touched Dawn Collins's lashes. Her breath came out in visible clouds as she hurried down the icy streets, her boots crunching through slush. The city still wore its Christmas smile-twinkling lights strung across balconies, wreaths clinging stubbornly to doors, and a half-deflated Santa slumped beside a café window. The holiday had ended, but the city wasn't ready to let go.

Dawn tightened her faded coat around her and checked the glowing screen of her phone. It led her toward a small pizzeria a few blocks ahead. It wasn't her dream job, but it was a job-and that was enough for now.

She was halfway across the street when a horn blared.

"Watch it!"

Her heart leapt into her throat as a sleek black car screeched to a halt inches from her knees. She stumbled back, chest heaving, eyes wide.

The tinted window rolled down to reveal an older woman-elegant, perfectly poised, and furious.

"Are you out of your mind? Do you have a death wish?" the woman barked, her tone sharp enough to cut glass.

"I-I'm sorry," Dawn stammered, her breath hitching.

The woman muttered something under her breath, slammed the window up, and sped off, leaving Dawn in a rush of exhaust and humiliation.

For a second, she just stood there, clutching her chest, her pulse thrumming in her ears. Then she shook her head. Get it together, Dawn. You've survived worse.

Because she had.

It had been nine long years since the accident that took her parents-nine years since her world collapsed and she became more sister than child. Her aunt, Peige, had taken them in, but the woman's home had been a cold kind of prison. The chores, the shouting, the endless reminders that they were charity cases. At seventeen, Dawn had fled, her siblings in tow, taking every odd job she could find. Babysitting, mopping floors, scrubbing dishes-whatever it took to feed them.

By twenty, she'd scraped together enough for a one-bedroom apartment. Small, yes-but theirs.

Now, at twenty-three, every day was a battle between exhaustion and hope. Rent. Tuition. Groceries. Life was an endless balancing act, and one wrong move could send everything crashing down.

She exhaled shakily, lifting her gaze to the glowing sign ahead. "This is it," she whispered.

The moment she stepped inside the pizzeria, warmth enveloped her like a hug she hadn't realized she needed. The air smelled of baked bread and melted cheese, the kind of comfort that reminded her of better days.

She was about to approach the counter when a man's furious voice cut through the chatter.

"You treat me like trash, and I've had enough!"

Dawn turned just as the young man ripped off his apron, threw it at his boss, and stormed toward the door. He brushed past her shoulder on his way out, muttering something she didn't catch.

"Good riddance!" the manager barked, and a young woman behind the counter rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, whatever. He wasn't that good anyway," the man said before disappearing into the back.

Dawn took a tentative step forward. "Um... hi. I'm here about the job opening?"

The assistant turned-a woman about her age with soft curls and a tired but kind smile.

"Perfect timing," she said with a small laugh. "We just lost a guy, and we're short-staffed. You looking for part-time or full-time?"

"Anything, really," Dawn replied quickly. "I can start right now if you need."

"That's the kind of energy I like." The woman extended her hand. "Alex Barnes."

"Dawn Collins."

Alex nodded approvingly and handed her a folded uniform from under the counter. "You can change in there," she said, nodding toward a narrow hallway marked Employees Only.

A few minutes later, Dawn emerged in her new uniform-too big in the shoulders, but warm and clean.

"You actually make that thing look good," Alex teased.

Dawn's laugh slipped out before she could stop it. "Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment."

"Here." Alex handed her a pizza box and a delivery slip. "First order of the night. You got this."

Dawn nodded, her heart fluttering with something she hadn't felt in a while-hope. "Thank you."

She pushed open the door, stepping back into the winter chill.

* * * * * *

Across town, in a mansion bathed in soft golden light, Daphne Manchester adjusted her fur coat and sat on an ornate sofa. The sound of faint fireworks popped in the distance, heralding the coming New Year.

Her phone buzzed, but she ignored it, her eyes flicking toward the grand staircase just as her son appeared.

Adam Manchester.

Tall, well-built, handsome-and broken in ways most people couldn't see.

"What's wrong, Adam?" Daphne asked softly, studying his tired eyes.

"Nothing," he said flatly, walking past her.

She sighed. "I'm your mother. Don't lie to me."

He hesitated, shoulders tense. Memories he tried to bury clawed their way back-Ava's laughter, her perfume, the way she used to fill every corner of his life with light. Then came the illness, the surgeries, the silence. One year in a coma, and still, he couldn't stop loving her.

"I'm fine, Mother," he murmured, his tone clipped, final. Then he disappeared down the hall.

Daphne watched him go, heart aching. The house had grown too quiet since Ava fell ill.

The doorbell rang.

Frowning, Daphne rose and opened it.

"Good evening, ma'am," came a bright voice. "Pizza delivery."

Her eyes widened. "You!"

Dawn blinked. "Ma'am?"

"You're the girl who almost threw herself under my car earlier!"

Realization hit Dawn like a splash of cold water. "Oh-oh my God, that was you! I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean to-"

Daphne held up a hand, her irritation fading into amusement. "Just... try not to get yourself killed before the New Year."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll be careful," Dawn said quickly, handing over the pizza.

Daphne passed her a generous tip and closed the door. For a moment, she stood there, her mind turning like gears clicking into place.

Then, slowly, a smile curved her lips.

"Maybe," she murmured to herself, "there's a solution for Adam after all."

Dawn knelt on the cold kitchen floor, her hands trembling as she clung to her aunt Peige's apron. Her cracked fingers ached, and her voice wavered as she pleaded.

"I'll stop going to school... but please, just help my siblings. Don't take this chance away from them."

Peige's sharp glare sliced through her. "Do you think feeding, clothing, and housing all of you is easy? I'm not made of money, Dawn."

Dawn's heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to cry but refused to. Tears never worked on Peige. "I'll work to pay you back," she whispered. "Just... let them finish school. I'll do anything."

Peige huffed, folding her arms. "Anything, huh? We'll see about that."

The sharp blare of an alarm clock shattered the memory. Dawn bolted upright in bed, her chest heaving. Sweat clung to her skin even though her room was freezing. She rubbed her eyes, trying to shake off the nightmare. The smell of burnt toast drifted from the kitchen - and that, more than anything, grounded her back to reality.

She groaned. "Not again."

Sliding into her slippers, she hurried downstairs. Her siblings were huddled over the toaster, guilty expressions written all over their faces. Jason, the older twin, held a plate of blackened bread like it was evidence of a crime.

"You planning to burn the house down before the New Year?" Dawn teased, though exhaustion softened her tone.

Jason grinned sheepishly. "I was trying to make breakfast, but uh... looks like breakfast tried to make me back."

"We thought we'd help," Leslie chimed in, "but clearly, we're not good at this whole domestic goddess thing."

Dawn shook her head, biting back a laugh. "You two can experiment on breakfast after I win the lottery, deal?"

She opened the fridge. Empty shelves. Half a jug of milk. One egg. Sighing, she muttered, "Perfect. Omelet à la poverty."

"Where's Amy?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Still asleep," Jason said, already edging toward the door.

"I'm heading out with friends!" Leslie announced, throwing on her jacket.

Jason raised an eyebrow. "You mean we're heading out, right?"

"Since when do we do things together?" Leslie shot back.

"Since I need you to ask for permission for me."

Dawn sighed. "You two are twins. Try acting like it."

Leslie smirked. "There's no proof."

Jason grinned. "Yeah, we don't even look alike."

She pointed a spatula at them. "Tell that to the neighbor who called you Leslie yesterday, Jason."

Their laughter followed her as she climbed the stairs to check on Amy. The youngest was curled under her blanket, her small face peaceful. Dawn's lips softened into a smile. For a second, everything felt still. Then the doorbell rang.

Her stomach sank. She already knew who it was.

Opening the door, she came face-to-face with Mr. Harrow, their landlord. His frown was as sour as ever.

"I've been more than patient, Miss Collins," he said. "It's December. The overdue rent isn't going to pay itself."

"Just a few more days," Dawn pleaded, gripping the doorframe. "I promise I'll have it."

"You have two," he said, flatly. "After that, you're out."

He turned and walked off, leaving Dawn standing in silence. She closed the door and pressed her forehead against it, her breath shaky. She couldn't let her siblings see her break. Not again.

"Morning, Dawn!"

She straightened up fast. Amy stood at the stairs, grinning, her curls a mess. Dawn forced a smile. "Good morning, love. Sleep well?"

"Uh-huh! But why didn't we decorate for New Year?" Amy asked, pouting. "All the neighbors have lights and stuff."

Dawn's throat tightened. "We'll decorate next year, sweetheart," she said softly. "This year we're keeping it simple."

"Is it because we don't have enough money?"

The question hit like a slap. Dawn crouched down, brushing a strand of hair from Amy's face. "It's not about money, baby. It's about... making the best of what we have. And we have each other. That's enough."

Amy thought for a second, then nodded. "Okay. But can we at least draw pictures to hang up?"

Dawn smiled and pulled her into a hug. "That's a perfect idea."

Amy darted away to grab crayons, her laughter echoing down the hall. Dawn's phone buzzed on the table. Tara.

"Hey," Dawn answered, her voice low.

"Hey, cuz," Tara said warmly. "You sound tired. What's going on?"

"Just... rent stuff," Dawn admitted. "I'll figure it out."

"Want me to help?"

"No." The word came out sharper than she meant. She sighed. "Sorry. I just... I can't keep depending on you, Tara. I need to do this myself."

There was a pause. Then Tara said quietly, "You've already done enough, Dawn. You don't always have to fix everything."

"I kinda do," Dawn whispered, glancing toward Amy's laughter. "They need me to."

She hung up before her voice could crack.

* * * * * *

Across town, Adam walked the sterile hospital halls, the hum of fluorescent lights gnawing at his already frayed nerves.

He paused at the receptionist's desk. "Can I see the doctor? It's about my wife."

The nurse looked up, concerned. "Is something wrong, Mr. Manchester?"

Adam hesitated. His throat felt tight. "No. Nothing."

He turned away and entered Ava's room. The steady rhythm of machines filled the silence. She looked peaceful-too peaceful. A beauty frozen in time.

He sat beside her and took her hand, brushing his thumb over her cool skin. "I'm scared, Ava," he whispered. "You always said I was the strong one, but... I'm not. Not without you."

He let out a broken laugh. "I can't even sleep without hearing your voice in my head."

A tear slid down his cheek, then another. "I'm not tired of waiting for you," he said softly, "but I'm so tired of living without you."

Suddenly, the monitor let out a piercing beep. Adam's heart froze as the screen flatlined.

"Ava? Ava!"

He shot to his feet, panic taking over. "Doctor! Somebody, please!"

His voice echoed through the hallway - raw, desperate, breaking apart like his heart.

Dawn wiped her hands on her apron, standing behind the counter as the pizzeria quieted after the lunch rush. The smell of melted cheese still clung to the air, and soft chatter drifted from a few lingering customers. Across from her, Alex leaned against the counter, munching on a breadstick like she owned the place.

"You're amazing at this, Dawn," Alex said, grinning. "Seriously. Do you live alone? I swear your energy's unreal-I'd love to come crash at your place someday."

Dawn chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You might rethink that once you see it. I live with my three siblings."

Alex's eyes widened. "Three? Girl, I can barely survive one cousin staying over."

"You don't have siblings?"

"I do," Alex said with a smirk. "But I hate them, so they don't count."

They both broke into laughter, the sound filling the small shop. For a moment, Dawn forgot about rent, bills, and all the worries waiting for her at home.

Then the doorbell jingled.

The laughter died instantly.

A woman in her forties walked in, dressed in an elegant cream coat and pearls that screamed old money. Her presence alone shifted the air-like the world had tilted just slightly to make room for her.

Alex straightened. "Oh my God... that's Daphne Manchester," she whispered, her voice trembling with awe. "What's she doing here?"

Dawn's heart stumbled. She recognized that face-the same one that had glared out of the sleek black car a few days ago.

"I need a word with you," Daphne said, her tone firm, leaving no room for hesitation.

Dawn exchanged a nervous glance with Alex, then followed Daphne to a corner booth.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," Dawn began, wringing her fingers. "If this is about the car thing-please, don't get me fired. I really need this job."

Daphne's sharp expression softened, though her voice remained steady. "Relax. I didn't come to cost you your job, Miss Collins. I came to offer you one."

Dawn blinked, confused. "Another job?"

"Yes. One that will allow you to settle your debts and take care of your siblings."

Her stomach twisted. "How-how do you know about that?"

"Let's just say I do my research," Daphne said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I've been keeping an eye on you."

Dawn's heart skipped. "Why?"

Daphne leaned forward, her polished nails tapping the table. "Because I need your help. And if you agree, you'll be paid well for it."

"How well?"

"An upfront payment of three thousand dollars," Daphne replied, her tone calm and deliberate. "And six thousand every month afterward."

The world seemed to freeze. The cash register's quiet beeps. The chatter from the kitchen. Everything blurred.

"That's... a lot of money," Dawn managed. "What exactly do you want me to do?"

Daphne's gaze softened, the faintest hint of pain flickering across her features. "I want you to help someone I love, my son, Adam."

Dawn's throat tightened. "Your son?"

"Yes," Daphne said quietly. "He's lost his wife to a coma. A years ago, she was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Since then, she hasn't woken up. He visits her every day, sits by her bed, barely eats, barely sleeps. I'm terrified I'm going to lose him too."

Dawn's breath caught. She could see the sorrow behind Daphne's polished mask, and for a moment, she didn't see a powerful woman, just a mother drowning in helplessness.

"What do you want me to do for him?"

"Befriend him. Bring him out of his shell. Make him fall in love with you... and marry him," Daphne said quietly, each word deliberate. "In return, you'll be taken care of, for life, if you wish."

Dawn stared at her, stunned. "You can't be serious."

"I've never been more serious."

"I-I don't even know your son," she whispered. "And love doesn't work like that."

Daphne smiled faintly. "No, it doesn't. But sometimes it needs a push."

Dawn stood, her pulse quickening. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I can't do that."

"Think about it," Daphne said, her tone cool again. "I'll be waiting."

* * * * * *

Dawn couldn't stop thinking about it. The whole way home, the words chased her like shadows: $6,000 a month... take care of your siblings... start over.

Her stomach twisted with guilt. How could I even think about it?

Then she saw the sign.

LOCKED.

Her heart dropped. The landlord's notice fluttered on the door, and the lock was sealed shut.

"No, no, no," she whispered, jiggling the handle. Panic clawed at her chest. "Not today. Please."

Her phone buzzed.

"Aunt Peige."

She answered instantly. "Where are they? My siblings-"

"They're fine," Peige interrupted coolly. "They're with me. I told you this would happen, didn't I? You'd come crawling back."

"Peige, please, don't do this. I'll pay the rent and come get them. I swear, just don't take them away from me."

But the line had already gone dead.

Tears welled in her eyes. She pressed her back against the door and slid down, her breath shaky. The streetlight flickered above her, cold and uncaring.

"I can't lose them," she whispered.

* * * * * *

That night, Dawn stood outside the Manchester estate, her breath visible in the chill. She hesitated, her hand hovering over the brass gate handle.

Her heart screamed no. But desperation whispered yes.

She took a deep breath and knocked.

The door opened to reveal Daphne, composed as ever.

"Not expecting you so soon," Daphne said, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

Dawn's voice trembled, but her eyes didn't waver. "I accept your offer."

Daphne's lips curved into something between relief and satisfaction. "Good. Then let's begin."