My Spare Husband #1
The End is The Beginning
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Hi reader, I wrote a new series that is on early release to my Substack. It’s a new idea for me. There will be daily chapters published at 15:00 GMT with a word count between 500 and 1,000.
I hope to publish this story as a novel eventually, but it might take a few months to reach the necessary word count.
The story is a lighthearted erotic romance with an element of D/s and lots of fun. I hope you enjoy it.
The first chapter is free; subsequent daily digests will be reserved for paid subscribers.
“I left plenty of money in our safe under the bed to keep you for life.”
“I know you did, Charlie. You were the finest husband any woman could have.”
On his deathbed, my husband handed me a scrap of paper with an address printed on it. He stared lovingly into my eyes as I watched the life color and sparkle drain from his face. I clutched his hand until he whispered his last.
“Please go to Kenya, Jess. The house at that address is yours. Jeremy will take care of everything, including you.”
“I don’t understand, Charlie. Who is Jeremy?”
With a final sigh, my husband was gone forever, or at least until I could join him - hopefully in eternal peace. I dropped to my knees, feeling desolate, bowed my head onto his chest, and sobbed pitifully while my son and daughter comforted me.
I was fifty years old, prematurely widowed, but regardless of the universe’s reason, suddenly, I was alone.
In the weeks following Charlie’s death, I was fully occupied with funeral arrangements. Taking care of the will and handing out gifts and bequeathments took time; each person on Charlie’s list was special and deserved my loving attention on his behalf.
Every visitor tore my heart apart because reminiscing about my beloved husband was painful.
After two months of hell and another four months piecing myself back together, my kids visited on the first day I could properly rest. I strolled along our private pebble beach with my daughter, Annie, talking about the future.
“Mom, what did Daddy mean about money in a safe under your bed.”
“Three million dollars in art, gold and precious gems honey. I have more in the bank, but the treasure under our bed is for you and Chuck.”
“You should spend it Mom - go on an adventure.”
Charlie designed and built our ten-bedroom traditional Maine white slatted, picket-fenced beachfront home but it seemed soulless without my husband. While we walked, I explained that to Annie with my heart breaking and tears rolling down my cheeks while she consoled me.
As I stood on the perfectly mown verdant lawn, staring up at my home, I saw how the shingles kept the house lines crisp, just as Charlie wanted and frequently proudly pointed out to visitors.
Everything was as he designed it inside, too; for example, the entire house was paneled in Douglas fir. Our six thousand five hundred-square-foot house had various open and sheltered places for dining, reading, or just plain sitting and living - all designed and built with love by my soulmate.
When I closed my eyes, my mind drifted, and Charlie’s voice told me for the millionth time that the exterior of our home boasted twenty-eight corners.
I leaned against my daughter, pointing up a slight grassy rise to the house.
“Speaking of an adventure, I need to leave here for a while, Annie. Why don’t you and your brother move your families in while I am gone.”
“Where will you go?”
“Kenya. I have to see this place your father spoke of.”
“At the end, he was delirious on morphine, Mom.”
“I must go there for Daddy’s sake, honey. He never let me down in life, so I must do this because he asked me to.”
“Okay.”
“Please move in here while I am gone—this house your father built is wasted otherwise.”
“I’ll speak to my husband, but you should tackle my brother.”
My son, Chuck, dropped me off at the airport a week later. I was flying via Dubai to Nairobi, Kenya, then taking a bus to Nanyuki and onward to the house my husband left me. All I knew about the property was that its closest town was Dol Dol, a tiny, rural, dusty, and relaxed place one and a half hours from Nanyuki.
It was a culture shock to start my journey in first class on a Boeing Dreamliner and end it after a rickety coach ride from hell leaving Nairobi, then in a fifty-year-old Mercedes Benz taxi with no air conditioning or shock absorbers bouncing me from Nanyuki to Dol Dol.
But I eventually reached Charlie’s secret house in the late afternoon and was dropped off at the end of a winding, tree and lawn-lined path roughly one hundred meters from the front door.
It was as stunning as Maine. In fact, after close scrutiny, to my shock and horror I saw it was Maine. The timber-frame house had a dried reed roof, which was different, but otherwise, it was the exact same design.
Instead of an ocean-adjacent home, this one was set in a green savannah, with hills surrounding it in a wide circle about five miles away. Occasional trees pockmarked the grassy plains, providing scant shade, and a stunning sunset splashed a surreal orange hue everywhere.
But it was definitely my house in Maine.
I stood agog, staring at an immense oval swimming pool in front of my house. It was built to be a lush and green tropical paradise that felt like a dream.
Footsteps crunching on the gravel behind surprised me, and I spun on my heels.
“Hello, Mrs. Chambers.”
“Whoa, who are you?”
“I am Jeremy, your new husband.”
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KATE sounds interesting 🤔.
Great start of a new story! Where do you get all these ideas Kate?