Page 1 of The Temporary Wife

Colby

T he papers landed on my workbench like a slap to the face.

I’d been running my hand along the grain of a custom dining table, checking for imperfections, when my phone buzzed. Lyla’s name flashed across the screen, and I’d made the mistake of answering. She didn’t waste time with pleasantries.

“Check your email, Colby. I’m done playing games.”

The line went dead before I could ask what the hell she meant. I wiped sawdust from my hands and pulled up my email, squinting at the screen through my protective eyewear. The subject line made my blood run cold: Petition for Modification of Custody Agreement.

My fingers trembled as I scrolled through the legal document. Words jumped out at me like accusations: unstable environment , inconsistent caregiving , lack of proper family structure . Lyla wanted full custody of Luca.

She wanted to take my son away from me.

I sank onto the wooden stool I’d built three years ago. The same week Lyla had walked out, leaving Luca behind so she could find herself. My chest tightened, making it hard to breathe.

Six years old.

Luca was only six years old, and she wanted to rip him away from the only stable home he’d ever known.

The workshop door creaked open, and afternoon sunlight streamed in. “Dad?”

Luca stood in the doorway, his dark hair sticking up in twelve different directions, just like mine did when I forgot to comb it.

He wore his favorite Spider-Man shirt, the one with a small hole near the left shoulder that I kept meaning to throw away but couldn’t bring myself to touch. Lyla would have replaced it months ago.

“Hey, buddy.” I forced a smile and minimized the email screen. “Just working on Mrs. Henderson’s table. What’s up?”

He shuffled closer, his mismatched socks—one blue, one green—sliding across the concrete floor. “What time am I going to Miss Kay’s?”

Shit. I’d completely forgotten about dinner with my best friend and confidant, Gianna.

We’d planned to try that new Italian place downtown, just the two of us for once.

Luca was supposed to stay with my neighbor, Kay Redman, but I’d been so consumed with work and then the custody papers that everything else had fled my mind.

“Yeah, I forgot,” I said, ruffling his hair. “Did you finish your homework?”

“Yep. Math was easy. Reading . . .” He scrunched up his face. “There were big words.”

“We’ll work on those tonight.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. Seven-thirty. Gianna had probably been waiting at the restaurant for an hour. “Go wash up for dinner. I’ll make us some mac and cheese.”

Luca brightened. “The kind with the little hot dogs?”

“The kind with the little hot dogs,” I said gleefully.

He raced back toward the door, which led into our kitchen, and I was alone again with the weight of Lyla’s ultimatum.

I read through the petition once more, my anger building with each page.

She claimed I worked too many hours, that Luca spent too much time with “inappropriate caregivers”—a not-so-subtle dig at Mrs. Redman and Gianna.

She painted me as an absent father who prioritized his business over his son.

It was all bullshit, but I knew how these things worked. Lyla had money, connections, and the natural advantage of being Luca’s mother. What did I have? A woodworking business that required long hours, a support system she could dismiss as inadequate, and a track record of failed relationships.

My phone rang again. Gianna’s name appeared on the screen, and guilt twisted in my stomach.

“Hey,” I answered, trying to sound normal.

“Colby Marshall, you stood me up.” Her voice carried that teasing tone she used when she was half-annoyed, half-worried. “I ordered appetizers and everything. The waiter kept giving me pitying looks.”

“I’m sorry, G. Something came up.”

The silence stretched between us. Gianna knew me too well. She could hear the strain in my voice, the careful way I was choosing my words.

“I’m coming over,” she said.

“You don’t have to?—”

“I’m already in my car.”

The line went dead. That was Gianna for you. She was stubborn as hell when she thought someone needed her help. It was one of the things I loved about her, even when it drove me crazy.

I slipped my phone into my pocket and headed into the house. Luca had already set the table, complete with paper napkins folded into uneven triangles. The sight made my chest ache. This was our life. Simple, imperfect, but filled with love. How could Lyla claim it wasn’t enough?

The macaroni boiled on the stove when Gianna’s car pulled into the driveway.

Through the kitchen window, I watched her climb out of her beat-up Honda, her long chestnut hair catching the porch light.

She wore one of those flowing dresses she favored, something soft and green that made her hazel eyes look like forest pools.

She let herself in without knocking. She’d been doing that for years and Luca launched himself at her before she could close the door.

“Miss G! Dad’s making mac and cheese with hot dogs!”

“Lucky you,” she said, hugging him tight. Over his head, her eyes found mine, and I saw the concern there. She studied my face the way she studied her flower arrangements, looking for what was out of place.

“Go wash your hands,” I told Luca. “That hug probably got you dirty.”

He giggled and raced toward the bathroom. Gianna stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her perfume. It was light and floral and always reminded me of her shop.

“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.

For a moment, I considered lying. Telling her it was just work stress or a headache.

But the weight of the custody papers felt like a boulder on my chest, and I needed to tell someone.

Gianna had been my anchor through every crisis since Lyla left.

She’d held me together when I didn’t think I could make it through another day.

She was the one I called when my world imploded the first time.

“Lyla’s filing for full custody,” I said.

The color drained from her face. “What?”

I pulled out my phone and showed her the email. She read in silence, her expression growing darker with each paragraph. When she finished, she looked up at me with fire in her eyes.

“This is insane. You’re an amazing father, Colby. Luca adores you.”

“Tell that to the judge.”

“I will if I have to.” She set my phone down on the counter with more force than necessary. “What does your lawyer say?”

“I haven’t called him yet. I just got the papers an hour ago.”

Gianna started pacing. Three steps to the refrigerator, three steps back to the stove. It was her thinking pace, the same one she did when she was designing a particularly complex floral arrangement.

“There has to be something we can do,” she muttered. “Some way to prove she’s wrong about the instability claim.”

“Like what? I do work long hours. Luca does spend time with babysitters. I’m a single dad trying to keep a business afloat and raise a kid. Those are facts.”

She stopped pacing and turned to face me. “But you’re not really single, are you? I mean, I’m here all the time. I help with homework, I take him to soccer practice when you’re busy, I cook dinner at least three nights a week.”

“Yeah, but you’re not . . .” I trailed off, an idea forming in the back of my mind. A crazy, desperate idea that I should have dismissed immediately.

“I’m not what?”

I stared at her, really looked at her. Gianna Stapleton, my best friend for the past four years.

The woman who’d picked up the pieces when my marriage fell apart.

The woman who made Luca laugh when he was missing his mom.

The woman who’d been there for every milestone, every crisis, every ordinary Tuesday night when I needed someone to talk to.

The woman I’d been half in love with for longer than I cared to admit.

“You’re not my wife,” I said quietly, hating the words as soon as they left my mouth.

She blinked. “What?”

“Dad! Miss G! I’m ready for dinner!” Luca’s voice carried into the kitchen.

“Almost done, buddy,” I said, never taking my eyes off Gianna. “But what if you were?”

“What if I were what?”

“My wife,” I said softly.

The words hung in the air between us like a challenge. Gianna’s mouth opened, then closed. She shook her head slowly.

“Colby, you can’t be serious.”

“Why not? Think about it, G. You’re already here all the time. You already help with Luca. You already know our routines, our lives. If we were married, Lyla couldn’t claim he doesn’t have a stable family structure.”

“You’re talking about a fake marriage.”

“I’m talking about survival.” I stepped closer, close enough to see the flecks of green in her hazel eyes. “I can’t lose him, Gianna. I can’t lose my son.”

Her face softened, and for a moment, I thought she might actually consider it. Then she shook her head again, more firmly this time.

“This is crazy, Colby. Marriage isn’t something you just . . . fake. It’s a legal commitment. It’s?—”

“It’s a piece of paper that could save my family.”

Luca came into the kitchen, with his hands on his hips, looking between us with a of curiosity and annoyance. “Are you guys talking about grown-up stuff?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” Gianna said, her voice gentle. “Very grown-up stuff.”

“Is it boring?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Very boring,” I confirmed, forcing a smile. “Let’s eat.”

Dinner passed in a blur of Luca’s chatter about his day at school and Gianna’s careful glances in my direction.

He told us about recess and art class and how Tommy Morrison brought a lizard for show-and-tell.

Normal six-year-old concerns that made the adult crisis swirling around him seem even more unfair.

Gianna helped clear the table while I loaded the dishwasher, our movements synchronized from years of shared evenings like this one.

After Luca was tucked into bed with his favorite book, Gianna and I sat on the front porch swing I’d built last summer.

The night was cool for October, and she pulled her cardigan tighter around her shoulders.

“You weren’t serious about the marriage thing,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

I was quiet for a long moment, listening to the creak of the swing chains and the distant sound of traffic on Main Street. “What if I was?”

“Colby . . .”

“I know it sounds insane. But think about it practically. We already act like a family half the time. Luca loves you. You love him. It wouldn’t be that different from what we’re doing now.”

“Except for the part where we’d be lying to everyone.”

“Would we be?” I turned to face her, searching her expression in the dim porch light. “You’re already the most important woman in Luca’s life. You’re already the person I turn to when everything falls apart. You’re already?—”

“Stop.” She held up a hand. “Just stop. This isn’t fair, Colby. You’re asking me to turn my entire life upside down because your ex-wife is being vindictive.”

“I’m asking you to help me protect my son.”

The words came out sharper than I’d intended, and I saw her flinch. Immediately, I regretted the tone, but I couldn’t take it back. The desperation was bleeding through, raw and ugly.

Gianna stood and walked to the porch railing, her back to me. “What happens when the custody case is over? What happens when you don’t need a fake wife anymore?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “We’d figure it out.”

“And if you meet someone? If you want to get married for real?”

The question hit me like a punch to the gut. The truth was, I couldn’t imagine wanting anyone but her. But I couldn’t say that. Not now, not when I was already asking too much.

“That’s not something I’m worried about right now.”

She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Of course it’s not. Because this isn’t about love, is it? This is about convenience. About solving a problem.”

“That’s not?—”

“It is.” She turned back to face me, and I saw tears glittering in her eyes. “You’re asking me to pretend to be your wife so you can win a custody battle. What happens to me in all of this, Colby? What happens to my heart when I have to pretend to love you and then go back to being just friends?”

Her words hit me like a physical blow. I’d been so focused on my own panic, my own desperation to keep Luca, that I hadn’t considered what this would cost her. Gianna, who’d been hurt before. Gianna, who guarded her heart like a fortress because she’d learned early that people left.

I stood and crossed to her, reaching for her hands. She let me take them, but she didn’t look at me.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking about what I was asking you to sacrifice.”

“I know you’re scared,” she whispered. “I know you’re desperate. But I can’t be your temporary wife, Colby. I can’t pretend to be in love with you when . . .”

She trailed off, and my heart stopped. “When what?”

She pulled her hands free and stepped back. “When it would hurt too much to pretend.”

Before I could process what she’d said, before I could ask what she meant, she was walking toward her car. I followed her down the porch steps, my mind reeling.

“Gianna, wait.”

She paused with her hand on the car door. “Call your lawyer tomorrow. Fight this the right way. You’re a good father, Colby. Any judge will see that.”

“And if they don’t? If I lose him?”

She looked at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across her face. “I need to think about this, Colby. This isn’t something you just decide on a Tuesday night.”

“I know. I’m sorry for springing it on you like this.”

“Call your lawyer tomorrow either way,” she said, getting into her car. “You need to know what you’re really up against.”

I watched her drive away, then walked back into my house. The silence felt heavier now, pressing down on my shoulders like a weight I couldn’t shake. I made my way to the living room and sank onto the couch, my eyes drawn to the family photos scattered across the side table.

There was one from last Christmas: Luca sitting on my lap, both of us grinning at the camera while Gianna made faces in the background to make him laugh. We looked like a family. We looked complete.

I picked up the frame, running my thumb along the edge. Luca’s gap-toothed smile stared back at me, so trusting, so innocent. He had no idea his world might be about to change forever. No idea that his mother wanted to take him away from everything he’d ever known.

My throat tightened. I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t let Lyla destroy what we’d built here, this imperfect but loving home where Luca felt safe and wanted.

I have to fight for him, I thought, my grip tightening on the picture frame. For us.