My Secret Wife
“We had a report of some missing Genetico property here.”
“Sorry, it’s just my wife and I.”
“Ah, your . . . wife. How did you meet?”
eHarmony, ha! I found her terrified in an elevator shaft. I fed her, taught her to speak, ignored the corporate barcode tattoo on her arm. We may have no marriage license, but the bands that connect us are stronger than gold.
“Is it okay if I look around?”
“Of course not,” I say. “This is my house.”
The door shuts and I see dark, fearful eyes peering from behind the couch.
“It’s safe,” I say.