The Requiem for a Substitute

After that, Sheridan didn't come home for several days.

He didn't go to the gallery either.

Neither did I.

My stomach pain was becoming more and more unbearable.

I took time off and stayed home.

Not a single phone call.

One day, Sheridan's gallery manager called me.

She asked if I could retrieve an auction catalog from Sheridan's West Village townhouse.

She said it was in his study.

It was the first time I had ever entered Sheridan's study.

He was fiercely private about his personal space, even handling the cleaning himself.

I found the document the manager needed.

I was about to leave.

But I caught sight of a photograph out of the corner of my eye.

Every rational part of my brain screamed at me to leave it alone. I couldn't.

I walked over and picked up the photo.

In it, Sheridan and Royce stood side-by-side on the lawn at their Columbia University graduation.

The dappled light from the trees veiled them, making them look like a perfect, fated couple. Each beat of my heart was a fresh stab of pain.

Underneath the photo was a wooden box.

It must have been an old box.

Its surface was worn smooth with age.

I picked it up and slowly opened it.

A morbid curiosity warred with the dread of confirming my deepest fears.

Inside the box, I saw many photos and mementos documenting Sheridan and Royce's time from their college days to vacations in the Hamptons.

There were some small trinkets as well.

It was then that all the whispered rumors clicked into place. It had all been true. I was the only one who hadn't seen it.

Now I finally understood.

I finally understood the look in Sheridan's eyes when he looked at me.

That explained the melancholy in his eyes. Why he’d paid my grandmother’s medical bills after a single glance. Why he’d chosen me…

I carefully returned everything to its place. It was the last shred of dignity I could afford myself.

Sheridan never came home again.

There was no need to guess.

He was undoubtedly staying at the hospital.

That way, he could take better care of Royce.

I learned this from his gallery manager.

He hadn't been to the office; he had been handling work from the hospital these days.

I listened to the manager's report.

Then I couldn't help but laugh at myself.

I, who was supposed to be his partner, was now learning about his life secondhand. The irony was bitter.

It was time to end this farce.

Early in the morning, my mother, Eleonora, called me.

She told me to come home, alone.

But I didn't expect what happened next.

As soon as I arrived home, my parents got a call from the hospital.

We sped to the hospital in a black town car.

The doctors were giving Royce emergency treatment.

Sheridan was there too.

When he saw me, he avoided my gaze.

I pressed my lips together and chose to remain silent.

Eleonora was sobbing uncontrollably.

"Why does my daughter have to suffer like this?

"What did I do wrong?"

Then, she turned to me, her eyes filled with rage and resentment.

"Reina, why isn't it you lying in there?"

A weak, bitter smile touched my lips. Yeah, I thought. Why didn't I die sooner?

I tentatively glanced at Sheridan.

He was looking worriedly at Royce inside the hospital room.

He didn't spare me a single glance.

I laughed at myself.

But my eyes burned.

I once thought he was my salvation. Turns out, I was just a stand-in. A ghost he looked at to see another woman's face.