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About this story:

Invisible grocery worker Spencer agrees to a favor for her best friend—only to be recruited as a dying woman’s “substitute wife” for her powerful husband. Loyalty, desire, and control collide during ninety-six dangerous hours that could change everything.

Author’s Notes
And off we go. This is a different twist on the Her Substitute Wife genre. We are substituting, but in a very different way. I thought the proxy wife thing needed a new twist. Let me know what you think of Spencer. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

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Chapter 1 – Who Was She?

“Are you serious, Spence? You haven’t had sex in two years?”

Spencer blushed, heat rising in her cheeks and neck like a sudden sunburn. She knew everyone near their table had heard Ramona. Her heart pounded like a drum solo, a rhythmic reminder of her embarrassment. Best friend or not, Ramona was always announcing things too loudly, as if the world needed every detail of Spencer’s life. Spencer’s thoughts flickered, remembering past mortifications—whispers at school, sharp as knives, sparked by Ramona’s outbursts. “Good, now Australia knows,” Spencer replied with a fake pout, trying to mask her unease. “It’s not a big deal, Ramona,” she said, but she was trying to convince herself as much as her friend.

“Not a big deal? I couldn’t go two days without it.” Ramona furrowed her brow, her tone skeptical. “Hey, I thought you and Deacon Leland Dean were back together. He was touting all in the men’s bible study about the possibilities of you and him.”

Rolling her eyes, Spencer spoke quietly. “I don’t think that’s going anywhere.” The man in question had just been at her house last night, pleading for more than just her hand. Still, she stuck to her vow and refused if he wasn’t offering more than sneaking over in the middle of the night.

Deacon Leland James, her high school sweetheart and the church’s eye candy, was on every woman’s lips. He was charming, quick to flash his smile in public, but Spencer had learned the difference between appearances and reality. In high school, Leland had swept her off her feet, holding her hand in church pews and promising her forever. But as the years went on, she started to feel like a secret rather than a partner. He asked her to keep their relationship quiet after graduation, never inviting her out except late at night, always careful in public to keep his distance. She remembered birthday dinners he skipped, holidays she spent alone, and excuses that multiplied like weeds. Yet, his affection behind closed doors was intoxicating and hard to let go of. Her resentment started way before two years ago, but it took countless nights of waiting, hoping he would choose her openly, before she finally realized he wanted her hidden, not out in the open. She hated that it took her so long to end things, but what shattered her last bit of hope was learning he cheated, though shame kept her from telling Ramona. Even after that, she let him back into her life, setting strict conditions, hoping for real change, but the trust was already gone. Spencer never told Ramona. It was too embarrassing.

Spencer’s hand tightened around her fork, the tines leaving faint impressions in her palm. Her gaze dropped to her plate, tracing the rim of her untouched salad as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, discomfort written on her face. In a quiet voice, holding back resentment and embarrassment, she said, “It’s not like food. People don’t need it every day.”

“You clearly haven’t had a good orgasm.” Ramona’s playful voice sliced through Spencer’s thoughts. “Wasn’t Lee a good lay? I mean, he was a big boy, right? He knew how to—”

Coldly, Spencer interjected, her voice tense and final, “I don’t wish to speak about Leland Dean right now.” She deliberately stuffed only the lettuce into her mouth, her anger and need for control surfacing as she ignored the rest of her food.

Even though Ramona was paying, Spencer always watched what she ate. All her life, food was a villain because of childhood stomach issues and how she was shaped. She remembered a school dance in her sophomore year. Wearing a sea-green dress, she felt excited yet anxious. At the punch table, she overheard whispers and cutting comments about her figure and how her dress fit. That pain mixed with her grandmother’s reassurance: after puberty, Spencer had wide hips and plump breasts—full-figured but not fat, her grandmother said. Spencer tried to hold onto that comment. Still, it made her vigilant, guarded about eating, and wary of judgment. This worry shaped many choices, pushing her to avoid situations where she’d stand out. She found comfort in blending into the background, feeling safe and less likely to be scrutinized.

Briefly, she bit back the aching memory of Grandma Spence, from whom she had gotten her namesake. Grief and longing pulled at her, recalling the woman who had raised her and taken care of her because her mother decided mothering was for bitches.

It didn’t matter to Spencer. To her, the weight of gratitude mixed with loss every day. Grandma Spence took care of all her needs until her death five years ago on Spencer’s 30th birthday.

“You get you some babies,” Grandma Spence said on her deathbed. “Babies make it all better.”

Of course, Spencer wasn’t going to run out and get pregnant after that, no matter if it was her grandmother’s dying wish. Sadness twisted inside her as she felt the pressure but resisted the urge to act.

A long time ago, she had hoped things would go that way with Leland. Unfortunately, her high school crush had other plans for her.

“Dammit,” Ramona hissed, looking at her phone, brushing a soft curl from her long blonde wig from her face. Annoyance flickered across her features, frustration simmering just beneath her polished exterior. Her best friend was a slightly lighter shade than Spencer, but always looked flawless. Ramona didn’t need much makeup. She had the high brown Lori Harvey colored skin, while Spencer was more like a Danielle Brookes shade. It wasn’t a bad thing, but Spencer felt resigned and quietly hurt, knowing more men preferred lighter-brown women to her darker shade.

She didn’t want the attention anyway. A mix of relief and sadness filled her—she loved that men didn’t look twice at her, but wondered if her indifference hid a deeper fear of rejection.

Ramona huffed. “They can’t leave me alone for a few damn hours. I seriously think I’m the only one at the office who knows how to use the software.” She tossed a couple of hundred-dollar bills on the table, looking at Spencer. “Come on, Spence. I’ll drop you off at your little job. You can change in the backseat of my car.”

Spencer didn’t complain, though a faint ache of loneliness tugged at her during these lunches. Since her grandmother died, Ramona has insisted that Spencer have lunch with her before work at least once a month, but Spencer believes it is more for Ramona than for herself. Sometimes, Spencer wondered whether Ramona kept up the ritual out of habit or needed someone to anchor her busy, scattered life. Despite their differences, Spencer sometimes questioned whether her own presence was truly needed or if she was just being kept around for the value she added to Ramona’s job.

Ramona had seven kids, two baby fathers, but a good job as a receptionist at a marketing firm. She was trying to get a promotion to executive assistant because it offered better pay and easier duties.

This lunch was the second time they had met in a month. Ramona had insisted, out of the blue, on taking her to lunch before work today. Usually, Spencer would move her day off to accommodate the lunch, but today she had to squeeze it in and work late.

“Taking care of one admin is better than taking care of ten of them,” Ramona groaned as she let Spencer duck into the backseat.

As Ramona explained, Spencer leaned forward, peeking at her friend’s phone over the backseat. With a quick swipe and a few taps, she corrected a formula in one of Ramona’s spreadsheet apps. “See? Done,” Spencer said, handing the phone back.

“You are a fucking genius, Spencer,” Ramona exclaimed, clutching her phone. “I swear if I didn’t want that executive administration position so bad, I’d quit.”

Spencer didn’t have the luxury of office life, nor did she desire it. After her grandmother died, Spencer shuttered the nonprofit her grandmother had run; grief, guilt, and anxiety weighed on her heart. Each night, she lay awake, grappling with the burden of letting go of something so precious to her family and questioning if she had failed her grandmother’s legacy.

Yet, selling a cherished family heirloom—a vintage brooch her grandmother wore at every significant event—was even harder. She remembered the brooch glinting at church gatherings, her grandmother’s laughter carried with its glimmer. Letting it go hurt, but brought relief, as it solved urgent financial needs. She didn’t want to pay for storage just to keep her grandmother’s items. Selling that brooch and everything else became necessary. Her next hardest decision was selling the huge colonial house. Walking through its empty rooms felt like wandering a gallery of memories, the walls echoing joyful conversations and her grandmother’s gentle voice. Yet the house was too large, a reminder of her solitude, so she finally decided to sell. Afterward, Spencer worked as a grocery store stocker and rented a small efficiency apartment for a thousand dollars a month. The little left in her grandmother’s accounts covered most bills, and she rode a bike or took the bus. Despite the grief, Spencer found comfort in her new simple life, hoping her grandmother’s spirit was still guiding her.

Taking up space in the world felt overwhelming to Spencer, so she tried not to. A persistent sense of anxiety and yearning for peace made living simply feel safer and quieter—the only way she could cope.

As she changed into her overalls and work boots, Spencer asked, “Would you really quit, Ramona? You’ve been at the job for five years.”

Ramona giggled. “If you hadn’t taught me how to work the Excel programs, I don’t think I would have been able to stay on this job. Not to go to college, you sure know a whole bunch, Spence. Why don’t you apply for an office job or something instead of these grubby stock jobs?”

Spencer blushed, slipping on her work gloves. “Nah, I tried that office culture, and it was so toxic. And if you don’t have a degree, they look down on you like you’re trash. I’m not trying to get on anyone’s bad side or make them have a bad day because I didn’t get their coffee order right.”

“But you can wear pretty clothes again, Spencer. And I know you like that.”

Rolling her eyes, Spencer bit her lip. She missed pretty clothes. She mostly gave away or donated everything she had, except three dresses and two of her grandmother’s wide-brim hats. The deep emerald dress reminded her of lush forests after rain, the silk cool and smooth, and it still smelled faintly of lavender sachets her grandmother used. Sometimes, even after hard work, she’d sit in the church pews just to feel pretty. Dressing up and going somewhere gave her peace, but otherwise, Spencer rarely ventured out. Church was the only place she dressed up now.

Raised by her grandmother, she had a small world, and at this point, she didn’t want it any other way.

Briefly, her eyes caught sight of herself in the rearview mirror. Eyes so dark brown, most times they looked black, but she had naturally long lashes that accompanied the slant. She was glad she got her grandmother’s face, even with the wide nose and the full lips. Grandma Spence had the prettiest smile, and Spencer knew she had one too, but she hardly ever showed it. The makeup Ramona wore was never something Spencer even attempted to put on her face. Maybe some eyeliner when she “dressed up” and lip gloss was the extent of her “makeup.”

At five feet two, she made sure to keep herself small around people so she wouldn’t attract attention. The coveralls helped because they hid her figure. The other guys in the stockroom didn’t pay her any mind, and she was glad about that because she didn’t want them to.

Spencer wanted to be forgotten. The one they thought of on the back end. Never cause trouble. Never cause problems. That way, no drama came her way.

Grandma Spence didn’t like drama, and Spencer was going to make her proud, even in death.

A heavy sigh from Ramona pulled Spencer back to reality. “What’s up?”

Ramona was just looking down at her phone while at a red light before tucking it away as if she had been caught. “Umm, Spencer, I do have something to ask you. A lady at my job, well, she’s asked for some work to be done at her house, and asked if I had any friends who could clean. For extra money, you know.”

“Cleaning?” Spencer snorted. “I’m shocked you didn’t jump on it. Your family has a whole business doing that.”

Chuckling, Ramona said, “I know, and I’ve got to be really desperate to volunteer, which I did because you know how I hated cleaning with my family’s business. because she’s a VP and I’d lick any ass to get into a better work position, but she said she’d rather hire someone who didn’t work for them. Something discreet and short-term. That’s what she said. She told me to be quiet about it. If you know what that means.” Ramona’s eyes flickered momentarily, and there was a strange tightness in her voice that Spencer couldn’t quite place. Spencer wondered why a VP would be so worried about discretion for a simple cleaning job. Maybe the woman had something, or someone, she didn’t want others at the company to know about. Or maybe it was just pride, not wanting her staff to see her personal life up close. “I figured since you used to work for my family’s company in high school and later, you’d be perfect for the job. She was really particular about looks.”

Frowning, Spencer questioned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, she said she had a size fourteen cleaning outfit, so she’s looking for that size girl. You know how cleaner customers are.”

Spencer did, but she couldn’t stop wondering why Ramona darted her eyes quickly away from the rear-view mirror. “And the pay?” she pressed.

“Oh yeah, she said it’s good pay. Whatever you want, but she would need to see you first. She said she doesn’t want undesirables around her house.” Ramona pulled up at the back of Spencer’s job, by the docks.

Trying not to take offense, Spencer shrugged. “Would it help you, Ramona? Is that why you’re acting funny?”

Ramona turned around as if Spencer had given her the winning lottery numbers. “I really want a promotion, and I didn’t want to ask you like a sacrifice or something, because you’ve helped me so much already in getting this job.”

Spencer chuckled because, every once in a while, she still helped her friend when something went wrong with the spreadsheet tables. Working on her grandmother’s Excel sheets all the time made Spencer a pro at fixing errors in office programs. And then she studied other programs to help expand office software, assisting her grandmother’s business. After her death, she was able to apply all those skills to Ramona’s work. “We’re friends forever, Ramona. And I feel I owe you a lot, too.” Spencer got out of the car, bracing herself against the cold January wind of Detroit, biting hard on her face, and said. “I don’t mind helping. You got bills, and you really want that position.”

Squealing excitedly, Ramona jumped out of the car and hugged Spencer. She didn’t even care that she was out of the car without a coat because she looked so relieved Spencer was going to help her. “Cool. I’ll give her your number. So be on the lookout. Okay?”

“Sure, Ramona. But if I don’t-“

“I know. No drama, no hoity toity shit, and no stupidity,” Ramona said understandingly. “I got you.” She kissed Spencer’s cheek before jumping back in the car. “Love you, girl. Thank you.”

Spencer watched her drive away before putting on her earphones to her small MP3 player. When she was fifteen, and Grandma Spence was struggling, she’d begged for this device. Three weeks later, when she came home with a perfect report card, her grandmother presented her with a gift filled with music from Motown, the eighties, and the nineties.

She didn’t care for the music at first, but when she couldn’t figure out how to get her own on there, Spencer settled on it, and since then, it has lasted her all these years. Eventually, just like everything else, she figured out technology on her own and had put a couple of songs she found for free on download to enjoy as well.

With her music on, she didn’t have to listen to the stockroom gossiping men or the vulgar talk of who they’d like to bury their dick in for the week. On her timesheet, a list of order numbers was posted. Of course, her sheet had more order numbers than any other stockroom employee. As she scanned through the familiar numbers, her eyes caught an unusual mistake: a number missing altogether, a small oddity that sent a shiver down her spine. Details always caught her eye, and she knew how to fix them without overthinking.

“You should work in the office,” she remembered Ramona saying. “You’d be so perfect.”

Office life was rife with drama and gossip mongers, which Spencer wanted no part of. The thought made her stomach hurt. Nothing could make her feel comfortable in the office life.

Nothing.

Her eyes fondly drifted up to the second floor, where the grocery store’s office was. Bet she could wear pretty dresses, get out at a decent hour, and didn’t have to worry about back strain, gossiping, sweaty, vulgar men, and she could really apply all the office programs she had learned, plus learn more.

Stashing the thought aside, she adjusted the MP3 player volume, not minding all the work her supervisor would heap on her; keeping busy helped the day pass faster.

Work, go home, sleep, eat whatever didn’t bother her stomach, then go back to work. She wanted the norm. She needed the norm.

Spencer wanted to be forgotten, tucked away in the quiet routine she now called her life. But echoing in the back of her mind, Grandma Spence’s words lingered, ‘Babies make it all better.’ Legacy was a word that sounded like it belonged to someone else, but she could never quite let it go. As she stood there at the back docks on her break, the winter wind nipping at her cheeks, she watched the world bustle without her. The sound of a child’s laughter drifted across the cold air, sharper than her resolve, and something inside her twisted with longing and unease. She shivered, not entirely because of the cold. Did she really want to keep disappearing into the background, hidden by routines and invisible in her own story? Or did she want something more—someone to share her life with, maybe even a child of her own, a reason to be seen and remembered? The ache of that silent wish made her breath catch. She couldn’t tell if she was afraid of wanting too much or not wanting enough. The unspoken question thudded in her chest as she headed into the warmth of the store, unsure whether she was running from the answer or searching for it.

___ *** ___

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His Substitute Wife … My Best Friend (c) 2026 Sylvia Hubbard All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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