For Five Years, My Husband Loved Me Like a Replacement Chapter 03
I got to the gallery. Maren’s painting was already up.
Pink ranunculus, layer after layer, blooming loud and bright.
The nameplate read Maren Reid.
That wall used to be mine.
Curator Chen saw me, face twisting with discomfort. “Vivian, Mr. Sterling called personally. I couldn’t say no.”
I nodded. “I know.”
He lowered his voice. “Your piece is still in storage. Do you want to take it?”
I followed him back.
The storage room was cramped, with cardboard boxes piled up in the corners. My painting leaned against the wall, protective film torn at one corner.
A faint scratch ran straight through the white rose’s center.
I crouched down, touching it with my fingertip.
Chen sighed. “Accident during the move. We could touch it up.”
“No,” I said.
Heels clicked behind me.
Maren walked in, voice bright with fake surprise. “Oh no — it’s scratched?”
Julian followed her.
His eyes fell on the painting, and he paused.
“You painted this?”
I didn’t look at him. “Yes.”
Maren’s voice went soft. “Vivian, why didn’t you tell me? I thought, like me, you were only painting as a hobby.”
Julian echoed, “You never mentioned it.”
I smiled. “I did.”
He frowned.
I reminded him, “Three months ago. I told you the gallery had a spot for me. You said don’t be silly, Maren’s research presentation is more important.”
He seemed to remember. Or maybe he just didn’t want to.
“There really was something important that day.”
I straightened. “And my work isn’t?”
The storage room went quiet.
Julian looked at me, voice easing. “Vivian, stop comparing yourself to her.”
“I’m not,” I said quietly.
I just wanted something that was mine.
But whenever Maren needed something, mine was always the thing that had to be given up.
Maren stepped toward me, taking my hands.
“Vivian, I’m sorry. I didn’t know this piece meant so much to you. Why don’t I give the exhibition spot back to you?”
She sounded so sincere.
But her fingers pressed hard into my skin.
And only I heard the drop in her voice.
“But Julian has already paid for the entire exhibition hall for me.”
I looked up at her.
She was still smiling that fragile smile.
Julian couldn’t see it. He only saw me pull my hands away.
“Vivian.” His voice dropped. “She already apologized.”
“No, she didn’t.”
Julian stared at me. “Then what do you want? Have her take the painting down in front of everyone and let everyone laugh at her?”
Maren’s eyes went red. “Julian, forget it. It’s my fault.”
He steadied her instantly. “Don’t cry.”
I watched the way he hovered over her. It reminded me of that card from last night.
His softness for her was always specific. Flowers. A note. A gallery spot. A whispered don’t cry.
For me, he only ever said enough.
Chen cleared his throat. “Mr. Sterling, guests are arriving.”
Julian murmured to me, “There’s press tonight. Don’t make a fuss.”
I asked, “What if I take my painting anyway?”
He glanced at the scratched white rose.
“It’s already like this. Taking it out now wouldn’t look good.”
Humiliating.
Like me.
I slowly let go of the frame. Left the scratched painting in that storage corner. Walked out alone.
*****
The reception started. Julian stood beside Maren under the lights.
Someone asked, “What inspired the ranunculus?”
Maren smiled at Julian.
“Someone sends me flowers every year. It reminds me I’m cherished.”
The room applauded.
Julian didn’t deny it. He even smiled.
I stood at the back, ready to leave. Then a reporter spotted me.
“Mrs. Sterling, are you an artist too?”
Julian’s gaze cut across the room, brow faintly tight.
Maren answered first. “Vivian’s always liked doodling. But she’s shy — don’t put her on the spot.”
Laughter rippled through. “Oh, just a hobbyist.”
Six months of work. Reduced to doodling in one sentence.
Julian walked over, draping his coat over my shoulders.
“Head to the car.”
Gentle move. But his voice was low.
“Don’t stand here. You’ll only make things difficult for Maren.”
I looked up at him. “Julian — I’m awkward too.”
He paused.
Then a staff member rushed over, panicked.
“Mr. Sterling — the storage room is flooding. Several paintings got soaked.”
My chest dropped. I ran.
I pushed the door open and saw my white rose on the ground.
Water was slowly spreading across the canvas.