My Husband Doesn’t Exist Chapter 07

My Husband Doesn’t Exist Chapter 07

“You’re lying…” 

“You’re all lying!” 

I screamed. 

The tears finally broke free. 

They mixed with the ice–cold sweat running down 

my face, pooling at the corners of my mouth. 

Bitter. 

“That is my home!” 

“I spent six thousand dollars reinforcing that 

door!” 

“I have two locks. A deadbolt. A fingerprint 

scanner!” 

“I was stalked once. I pretend to be married 

because I need to feel safe…” 

The older officer looked at me. 

Something shifted in his eyes. A trace of deep, 

quiet pity. 

“Mara. You were stalked. That’s true.” 

“Four years ago. Right after you graduated.” 

“But the person who saved you wasn’t some kind 

neighbor. It was Jenna Farrow. She was renting 

the unit across the hall from you.” 

The memories I had sealed away, the ones I’d 

fought so hard to forget, came roaring back to life with every word he spoke. 

Four years ago. 

Jenna and I had both just graduated from college. 

We were renting the cheapest studios we could find in the rough part of town. 

Six hundred a month. 

Walls thin as paper. You could hear everything. 

The hallway always smelled like grease and rotting garbage. 

Jenna lived there because she wanted 

independence. She’d had a falling out with her family and cut off all their financial support. 

I lived there because I was genuinely broke. 

We were right across the hall from each other. 

Jenna was kind. Almost naive in her generosity. 

Whenever she cooked, she’d make extra and 

knock on my door. 

“Mara, I made way too many ribs. I can’t finish 

them all. Help me out?” 

I knew what she was doing. She saw me eating 

cup noodles every night and was finding excuses 

to feed me. 

She lent me lipstick for job interviews. 

She sat up with me all night when I was sick, 

making me soup. 

That horrifying night. 

A drunk stranger picked my lock with a piece of 

wire. 

He climbed onto my bed. 

Clamped his hand over my mouth. 

While I was struggling in helpless terror, Jenna heard the noise from across the hall. 

She grabbed a wooden mop handle and charged 

straight into my room. 

She beat the man like she’d lost her mind. 

Drove him out. Called the police. 

That night I clung to Jenna and shook so hard I 

couldn’t stop crying. 

She rubbed my back and whispered, “It’s okay, 

Mara. I’m here. No one’s going to hurt you.” 

After that, we became inseparable. Best friends. 

But a year ago, fate played a cruel joke on us. 

Jenna’s family home in the suburbs was marked 

for demolition and redevelopment. 

Her parents received a massive payout and three 

new apartments. 

Overnight, Jenna went from scraping by to having 

more money than she knew what to do with. 

She never had to worry about rent again. 

Her parents bought her a condo outright. A nice. 

one. Upscale neighborhood, city center. 

It was meant to be her future home after she got 

married. 

The day she moved, she held my hand and said, 

“Come with me, Mara. It’s safe there. There’s 

plenty of room.” 

I moved in with her. 

The building had twenty–four–hour security patrols. 

Keycard access for the elevators. 

A reinforced steel front door that Jenna personally 

picked out and paid six thousand dollars to have 

installed. 

For the first three months I lived there, the 

nightmares stopped completely. 

I felt like I was living inside a fortress. 

But gradually, something inside me changed. 

Every day I came home and saw the designer 

bags lining an entire wall. 

Watched her take trips without ever worrying 

about work. 

Watched her plan wedding details with her well–off 

boyfriend. 

Then I looked at myself. 

A few thousand a month. Counting pennies over 

bus fare. 

Getting chewed out by my supervisor at work like 

a dog. 

The hoodie on my back was one Jenna had worn out and passed down to me. 

The makeup I used was whatever Jenna didn’t 

want anymore. 

Every time she smiled and handed me those things, every time she said “Here, Mara, this is for 

you” in that warm voice of hers, it felt like charity. Pity raining down from above. 

The shame curdled into something twisted. 

Jealousy. 

Why her? 

Four years ago, we lived side by side in those 

six–hundred–dollar shitholes. 

Why does she get to wake up one day and live like 

a princess in a penthouse while I’m still drowning? 

The woman who saved my life became the thing I 

resented most. 

when 

What finally broke me was six months ago, 

Jenna came to me looking a little embarrassed. 

“Mara, my boyfriend and I are getting our marriage 

license next month.” 

“We need to renovate this place for the wedding.” 

“You might have to… find somewhere else to stay.” 

“But I’ll help you, I promise.” 

She’d already found me a place. Out in the 

suburbs, she said. Affordable. 

She offered to cover the first three months of rent. 

But when I pulled up the listings she’d sent me, 

what I saw made my throat close. 

A flimsy wooden door. 

No cameras in the hallway. 

It looked exactly like the place where I was 

attacked four years ago. 

The sensation of a hand clamped over my mouth 

came flooding back like a wave. 

If I leave, I’ll die. 

The world outside is full of predators. 

Only this door, with its deadbolt and fingerprint 

lock, can keep me alive. 

Jenna is trying to take it from me. 

She wants me dead. 

A dark thought took root in my mind and began to 

grow. 

If Jenna disappeared… 

This apartment would be mine. Wouldn’t it? 

All I have to do is lock the door. Pull the curtains 

shut. 

And this place becomes my castle. Mine alone.