Mrs. Evan Mercer

It was just before noon that she heard the car pull into the driveway. Stacy looked up from the dining room table, pen hovering above a half-finished shopping list. Groceries. Cleaning supplies. A few ingredients circled twice because she knew Evan liked them.

Evan.

The thought alone brought a warm flutter to her chest and a heat in her groin.

Laundry tumbled in the dryer downstairs. The bedroom had already been tidied. The kitchen gleamed. Every surface in the house seemed to shine. The only thing she hadn't prepared for Evan's return was herself. She was planning a surprise for him after school: his wife, in his favourite lingerie set, making up for what they didn't finish in the bedroom that morning.

Her gaze drifted to the open binder beside the shopping list.

The Encyclopedia of Evan.

A ridiculous name.

A wonderful name.

The pages were filled with details about her husband. Favourite foods. Favourite movies. Favourite colours. Tiny preferences that somehow felt enormously important. Being Mrs. Evan Mercer had become the centre of her world. The realization should have frightened her. Instead, it made her smile. Her life had gotten far past where she could have hoped to end up and into some sort of paradise.

Having the Encyclopedia had helped enormously. The book was like a cheat sheet to Evan's heart. He loved her, and she loved him, two facts that were unshakable, but it didn't hurt to find the secret recipes to keeping their relationship alive. She had the vague notion that it was her that had put it together originally, but she had no memory of doing so. Not that it mattered. Memories could be tricky. She could always just ask Evan when he got home what had actually happened. It was his job, after all, to help her know what to think, what to believe.

She put down her pen, stood from the table, and moved to the front door. Curiosity drove her there, but what she saw replaced it with excitement. The car in the driveway. The familiar figure stepping out. Her heart practically launched itself into her throat.

Evan.

"Baby!"

The word escaped before she could stop it. Just seeing him had triggered the welcome feeling of arousal that always came when she thought of him. She hurried down the front walk barefoot, too excited to stop and put on shoes, panties already enthusiastically soaked.

"Baby!" she called again.

Confusion lingered somewhere in the back of her mind. A distant memory. A feeling that things hadn't always been like this. Hadn't there been a time when she'd felt differently about him?

The thought slipped away before she could grasp it. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe it was something she'd seen in a movie. Lately, memories seemed strangely slippery.

Another reason she was so lucky to have Evan. He helped her, like, make sense of things. He always seemed to know what was right when she wasn't sure. He made her feel comforted. Safe. Loved.

"You're home early!" she said brightly as she reached him.

The expression on Evan's face immediately gave her pause. She knew her husband well enough to be able to read the emotion he always tried to hide. Relief. Nervousness. Concern. All tangled together.

"You okay?" she asked.

"I need to talk to you."

The seriousness in his voice sent a small knot of anxiety through her stomach. Without waiting for an answer, she took his hand and led him inside. If they needed to talk, they should do it in private. Besides, the neighbours hated it when they made out on the front lawn.

"I was working on groceries," she said. "I thought maybe I'd make something special tonight."

The front door closed behind them. Evan remained quiet, the look on his face telling her that he had yet to decide what to say.

Not wanting to waste an opportunity to show him how much she appreciated all that he did for her, Stacy immediately wrapped her arms around him, pressing her lips up to his. Kissing Evan was one of her favourite things. If he would let her, she would follow him around and kiss him all day long. But sadly, Evan had other things to do than to spoil Stacy. Maybe that's what he wanted to talk about. Maybe he wanted to bring her with him during the day!

Evan placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her away, her lips still moving as if she was kissing him. She hated the moment after a kiss, the sensation of loss, the feeling of emptiness. Evan was like oxygen to her. Without him, her life lacked meaning.

"Stacy."

The way he said her name shook her out of her thoughts and back into the present.

"You need to listen carefully."

"What is it?"

"I went back to see Madame Ruth."

The name struck something buried deep inside her mind. A shop. Shelves. Bottles. An argument. A flash of irritation crossed her face.

"Madame Ruth?"

"Yes."

His voice softened.

"I thought maybe she could help."

Help. The word lingered. Help with what? A headache pulsed briefly behind her eyes. Fragments flickered. David, Evan's dad. A wedding, but all the details were wrong. A potion, something that she hadn't been supposed to drink. She had been silly, disobeying her man, drinking it anyway. But she was pretty sure that her mistake had ended up setting her free from her nightmare existence.

The images vanished almost immediately.

"I'm confused," she admitted.

"I know."

Sympathy filled Evan's expression. That look alone nearly broke her heart. Because somehow she knew he was worried about her. Not himself.

Her.

"Stacy," he said quietly, "things aren't supposed to be like this."

The knot in her stomach tightened.

"What do you mean?"

"You used to be married to my dad."

Silence. She stared at him. The sentence felt absurd. Impossible. And yet something deep inside her shifted. A distant echo. A memory trying desperately to surface.

"I..."

Her hand rose to her temple.

"I think I remember that... am I supposed to remember that?"

The words came out uncertain. Fragile.

Evan nodded slowly.

"I was afraid of that."

Afraid? Why would he be afraid?

"It's okay, baby. I don't really understand what's happening, but I'm happy," she said, reassuring him.

"I know," Evan looked pained. "But it's not real."

The sympathy in his voice suddenly sounded almost apologetic. And somehow that frightened her more than anything else. Her man, her love, her husband, had done something. She didn't know what, but while she normally just took everything Evan did as the last word, something told her he had made a mistake.

Slowly, he reached into his pocket. A tiny black vial appeared in his hand. Something about it made every instinct she possessed sit upright and pay attention.

"Madame Ruth gave me this."

Stacy's eyes narrowed.

"What is it?"

"She said it won't undo what's happened."

Hope flickered briefly, then vanished.

"This is my fault. All of it. I did this to you, and so I need to make it right."

"Is this because I didn't finish waking you up properly this morning? Because we can, like, go upstairs and finish up now if you'd like. Or we could do it right here. I don't mind, baby."

"I'm sorry, Stacy. I hope this works."

Before she could stop him, he pulled the cork free. The sharp scent of something unfamiliar filled the air.

"Evan..."

He drank. Every drop. The empty vial slipped from his fingers. For one frozen second, nothing happened.

She blinked. A whole world of emotion and clarity crashed in on a dizzying and excruciating moment.

"Evan!"

She grabbed his arm, her eyes wide in panic.

"What the fuck did you do?!"