Part 4 — She Knew I Was His Wife

I slept on the couch at LastWord Audio.

The studio occupied the second floor of an old brick building near Pioneer Square. It had two recording booths, a narrow office, and a kitchenette that smelled permanently of coffee.

It was not comfortable.

It was mine.

At eight the next morning, Adrian called three times.

I answered the fourth.

“Where are you?”

“You found the papers.”

His breath came through the phone, controlled but heavy.

“Claire was taken into intensive care last night.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Are you?”

I closed my eyes.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to stop behaving as though I betrayed you.”

“You hid our marriage in front of her.”

“She was in distress.”

“You called me Ms. Bennett.”

Silence.

I looked through the booth window at the microphone waiting inside.

“I have a client at ten.”

“You’re still going?”

“She has not canceled.”

His voice sharpened.

“When did you become this cold?”

“Probably while I was waiting for you to become kind.”

I ended the call.

Claire had been moved back to her private room by the time I arrived.

She looked exhausted but alert.

“You came.”

“You sound surprised every time.”

“I thought Adrian would stop you.”

“He doesn’t own my company.”

Her gaze lingered on me.

“No. I suppose he doesn’t.”

I set my case on the table but did not open it.

“Before we record, I need to ask you something.”

Claire waited.

“Did you know Adrian was married?”

A long silence followed.

“Yes.”

The answer came without apology.

“Did you know his wife’s name?”

Her eyes met mine.

“Yes.”

The room seemed to tilt, then steady.

“You knew exactly who I was when you hired me.”

“I knew you owned LastWord Audio.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Claire touched the blanket over her knees.

“I wanted someone who would take the messages seriously.”

“There are hundreds of audio producers in Seattle.”

“I chose you.”

“Why?”

Her composure cracked at the edges.

“Because I wanted to understand you.”

“No. You wanted me to listen.”

She looked away.

“You wanted me to sit here while you described every private memory you shared with my husband. You wanted me to carry your voice into my own home.”

“I’m dying.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

Tears appeared in her eyes.

“I didn’t ask him to leave you.”

“You asked for one hundred mornings.”

“I was afraid he would forget me.”

“He is my husband.”

“I know.”

Her voice was barely audible.

The admission stripped away the last of her innocence.

I removed the recorder from my bag and placed it on the table between us.

“This project was presented as a legacy-message package. If it is being used to harass or manipulate a third party, I can terminate it.”

“I am not manipulating anyone.”

“Then explain why you deliberately hired his wife.”

Claire wiped one tear from her cheek.

“I wanted to see what kind of woman he chose.”

“He didn’t choose me. He hired me for three years.”

Her eyes flickered.

She already knew that too.

I leaned forward.

“How much did you investigate?”

Claire did not answer.

I opened the digital intake package she had submitted. Medical release, delivery schedule, contact authorizations, personal documents.

One attachment had been added the previous night.

Boston North Oncology Institute—Clinical Trial Eligibility Notice.

I opened it.

The letter stated that Claire met the preliminary requirements for a trial treatment program. Further screening was required, but enrollment remained possible.

Beneath it was a copy of Claire’s response.

I decline. I do not wish to leave Seattle.

The email had been sent six days before she hired me.

“You told me you had no options.”

“The trial isn’t a guarantee.”

“But it is an option.”

“You don’t know what treatment does to a person.”

“No. But I know you chose not to try, then told Adrian you were dying alone.”

Her face tightened.

“I came back because I didn’t want to spend whatever time I have left among strangers.”

“You could have told him the truth.”

“He wouldn’t have come.”

There it was.

Not fear of treatment.

Fear that the truth would not be powerful enough.

Claire looked at me with wet, defiant eyes.

“If he chooses to stay with me, that will be his decision.”

“Not if you manufacture the choice.”

“I didn’t force him.”

“You made him believe every hour away from you might be the hour you die.”

Her voice rose.

“I loved him first.”

“And then you left him.”

“I was sick. I was terrified.”

“So you disappeared, and now you’ve returned expecting every life he built to move aside.”

Claire’s monitor began beeping faster.

I did not raise my voice.

“I won’t compete with you. But I won’t help you invade my life one recording at a time.”

She stared at the recorder.

“Are you canceling?”

“I’m pausing delivery.”

Panic crossed her face.

“You can’t.”

“The contract permits a review when a project may be used deceptively. Your original files will remain protected.”

“I paid you.”

“That bought professional service. It did not buy my silence.”

I collected the tablet and stood.

Claire’s expression changed again.

The tears vanished.

“You think leaving him will make you powerful?”

I stopped.

“He won’t let you go.”

“That is no longer his decision.”

“You don’t know Adrian the way I do.”

“No,” I said. “I know the man he became after you left.”

Claire gave a brittle laugh.

“And did you like him?”

The cruelty of the question was precise.

I thought of the empty house, the ring on the table, and the letter from the night I lost my baby.

“No,” I said. “I loved him. That was the problem.”

I walked to the door.

“Maya.”

I turned.

Claire reached for the recorder on the bedside table. She activated it herself, as permitted under the client controls I had installed.

The red light came on.

She spoke slowly.

“I knew who you were before you entered this room.”

I did not move.

“I chose you because I wanted you to hear everything Adrian and I had. I wanted to know whether you would fight for him.”

Her mouth curved into a faint, bitter smile.

“If he comes back to me because I’m sick, it still means he came back.”

The recorder preserved every word.

I crossed the room and stopped it.

Claire’s eyes widened.

“You recorded that?”

“You did.”

I secured the file in the authorized project folder.

“Then let’s make sure he understands exactly what he is choosing.”