PART 1: The Wife Who Didn’t Exist
The big glass doors of the Plaza Hotel in downtown Minneapolis were shiny from the heavy fall rain, but inside, the lobby smelled like expensive flowers, clean marble, and lots of money.
“You cannot go up to the private rooms, ma’am,” the lady at the elevator said with a fake smile. “The chief engineer’s wife and son are already up there with the business partners.”
My seven-year-old daughter, Emily, held my hand tightly. She was carrying a small shoe box with blue glitter on it. Inside the box was a paper tie she made, a picture of the three of us, and a card that said, To the best dad in the world.
I came downtown to surprise my husband, Christopher.
Christopher told me this morning that he had an important dinner with big investors and could not bring any guests. But Emily spent a whole week making this gift because her dad missed her school play, and I thought seeing him for five minutes would make her happy again.
The woman blocking our way was Brenda, his assistant. She wore a tight black dress and smiled like she planned this mean trick before we arrived.
“There must be a mistake,” I said, trying to stay calm. “I am Abigail, Christopher Adams’ wife.”
“Oh, you are just the woman he lives with in the St. Paul suburbs,” Brenda said with a nasty laugh. “His real wife is Madeline Sinclair, and she is upstairs right now with Jackson, the only son Christopher talks about to his partners.”
Emily looked up at me with tears in her eyes. “Mommy, does Daddy have another boy?”
I felt like I could not breathe, and I stood frozen in the middle of the crowded room.
Brenda kept talking without caring at all. “Tonight, Mr. Adams will sign a big deal to become the president of the company. The Sinclair family gave him all the money and their famous name, while you are just a school counselor with a kid who always ruins his schedule, so please leave before I call the guards.”
A few rich guests stopped to look at us, but nobody helped. They just stared at my wet coat, Emily’s cheap shoes, and her glittery box like we were dirtying the beautiful floor.
Emily started to cry without making a sound, holding her box close.
For nine long years, I accepted canceled dinners, forgotten anniversaries, strange bills, and phone calls Christopher took in the other room. He always told me his company was losing all its money, so I used my own cash to pay our rent, pay for his business school, and buy his mother’s heart medicine.
But I never told Christopher the whole truth about my own family.
To Christopher, I was just Abigail Roberts, the daughter of a retired nurse from Duluth, because Roberts was my mother’s last name.
My real father’s name was Harrington.
My late dad started one of the biggest investment companies in the area, and my brother, Thomas, managed all the family money while running a powerful law firm. I hid my family name because I wanted to know if Christopher could love me for me, not for my money.
Brenda laughed loudly when I took out my phone. “Who are you calling, the principal of your little school?”
Thomas picked up his phone right away. “Abigail, what is wrong?”
I looked at my little girl trembling next to me. “Christopher is introducing another woman as his wife, and his assistant told Emily that he has another family upstairs.”
The phone went completely quiet for a second. “Did Emily hear that?”
“Yes, she heard everything,” I whispered.
My brother’s voice became very cold. “Then I am done protecting him for you, so tell me what you want to do.”
I looked right at the gold elevator doors. “I want to go up there, I want my daughter to give him her gift, and then I want everyone to know who Christopher Adams really is.”
Brenda stopped smiling when she saw my face.
And nobody in that lobby knew what a big storm was coming to the top floor.
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