"Miss Griffin, your husband’s marital status doesn’t list you as his spouse. Did you perhaps enter the wrong ID number?"

The nurse in charge of registering spousal details for the pregnancy record looked at me, clearly troubled.

"That’s impossible. My husband is Brynn Murphy. Could you please check again?"

Reluctantly, the nurse searched once more.

"The system shows that Brynn’s ID is already linked to another marriage record. The name listed in the spouse column is Sylvie Gibson."

A silent explosion went off in my head. My ears buzzed, drowning out the world.

Sylvie.

The same woman the Murphy family praised to the heavens, his so-called “goddess-like” god-sister.

Every New Year, she’d sit at our dinner table, smiling sweetly as she filled Brynn’s bowl with food.

He always brushed her off, calling her silly, overly emotional, uneducated, and annoying.

I used to laugh, teasing him, "She’s your god-sister; how can you say that about her?"

But now, how could she just be a god-sister?

She was the one legally married to him.

She was listed as the legal wife on his marriage certificate.

I clutched my faintly aching abdomen. The joy I had felt moments ago, upon learning I was pregnant, had vanished, replaced by something cold and absurd.

Seven years of loving companionship, a marriage others envied, had it all been nothing but a cruel illusion?

I couldn’t even register what the nurse said next. I completed the paperwork alone, muddle-headed like I was walking through fog.

By the time I sat in the car and returned home, I felt like a stranger in my own body.

Before I could even open the front door, I heard Brynn on the phone inside.

"Brynn, you’re about to turn thirty. Isn’t it time to divorce the one from the old house and give Natalie a proper title?"

There was a pause. Then Brynn said casually, "No rush. Sylvie’s father just passed. The inheritance hasn’t been divided yet. If I divorce her now, she won’t stand a chance against her brothers."

"And Natalie? You’re really going to make her raise that woman’s child for you?"

Brynn let out a sigh, irritation creeping into his voice.

"What else can I do? He’s my biological son. Sylvie begged me to give the kid a proper identity, so I used adoption as a cover."

"Natalie won’t be mad. She’s so in love with me; she’ll love my son just because he’s mine. Besides, I never planned to tell her the truth."

I leaned against the wall of the room, tears falling silently, pain searing through my abdomen wave after wave.

No wonder Brynn, who had always been indifferent to children, had recently kept bringing up a "late friend’s kid," saying how well-behaved and smart the child was.

He said if he had the chance, he’d really want to adopt him.

I remembered, when we first got married, how terrified he was about my health.

Every time he heard stories of women dying in childbirth, he would hold me close, tears in his eyes, begging me not to take that risk.

For seven long years, we never tried to conceive.

Lately, however, the way he spoke about children has changed.

That’s why, when I accidentally got pregnant this time, I hadn’t told him yet; I wanted to surprise him, to tell him I was keeping it.

I never imagined the surprise would become a slap in the face.

This child wasn’t a blessing. It was the crack that shattered the illusion of our marriage.

A sharp throb pounded behind my eyes. Pain twisted through my abdomen like a fist squeezing from the inside.

The world blurred. My ears buzzed. I gripped the doorframe just to stay upright.

“Natalie?”

Brynn’s voice cut through the ringing. He must’ve sensed something was wrong; he hung up at once, and his hurried footsteps drew closer.

Before I could move, he had already swept me into his arms.

“If you’re feeling weak, don’t speak.”

He pressed his forehead gently against mine. "I’ll call the family doctor. Your face is deathly pale."

I clenched my teeth and forced the lie through trembling lips. "It’s my period, the cramps, same as always. No need for a doctor."

Brynn let out a breath of relief, his shoulders loosening as he turned toward the kitchen.

"Lie down and don’t move. I’ll make you some ginger tea."

Soon, the clatter of bowls echoed from the kitchen, followed by the soft whoosh of the stove lighting.

He always peeled the ginger slowly, carefully, as if handling something delicate. Layer by layer, he made sure not a speck of dirt remained, just so the tea wouldn’t sting my throat.

He even tasted it first before handing it to me, just to be sure.

"Blow on it a bit before you drink." He squatted beside me, looking up at me with his usual gentle tone.

I took the ginger tea in my hands. It was slightly warm.

This man who had treated me so well, Brynn, the one I had loved for seven years, could he truly deceive me about something as sacred as marriage?

Could it really have been a hospital’s mistake?

I grabbed Brynn’s hand, searching his face as doubt swirled in my chest.

With a tentative smile, I asked softly, "Hubby, I went to sign up for a class today. They were running a promotion that said couples who showed their marriage certificate could get a discount. Where’s ours again?"

A flicker of tension crossed Brynn’s face. His voice came stiff, strained.

"How much of a discount could it really be? I’ll just pay for you myself. The certificate’s buried at the back of the safe; it’s a hassle to dig out."

The moment I saw his expression shift, my heart cracked wide open.

I placed the ginger tea down on the table. It tasted warm, but in my throat, it felt more suffocating than poison.

I didn’t sleep a wink that night.

My mind kept drifting back to the past; it had been Brynn who had pursued me from the start.

He wasn’t like the others. He never flattered, never chased with hollow gestures. He simply appeared, quiet and steady, weaving himself into my life little by little until all my pride and clarity were slowly worn away.

I still remembered the moment I truly fell for him, it was seven years ago, during a business trip to France.

He had contacted the perfumery I often visited a week in advance, asking the artisan to craft a limited-edition fragrance based on a scent I had once blended myself.

The night I landed in France, the perfume arrived, along with a handwritten card.

"You once said scent could carry memories of love. So, will it help you remember me?"

He never spoke of what he had done.

Back then, my father didn’t approve. He said Brynn came from nothing, that we were worlds apart in status.

But Brynn didn’t argue. Just a month later, he merged a newly acquired pharmaceutical company into my family’s business, tripling its value overnight, earning my father’s respect through sheer action.

By then, I already knew I couldn’t live without him.

I went to my father and said, "I will marry him."

Our wedding was grand, a dream bathed in luxury. He held my hand and vowed, "From this day on, through rain or shine, I’ll protect you for the rest of my life."

I had once truly believed I’d married the right man in this lifetime.

Brynn spoiled me, understood me, respected me. He never tried to control me, never forced his will on me.

Instead, he wrapped me gently in his world, soft, steady, like silk winding around the heart.

His love left its mark on everything around me.

But I never imagined that just when I had surrendered completely, just when I had fallen hopelessly in love with him, he would deal me such a cruel, merciless blow.

The very next day, I hired a private investigator. By nightfall, I was holding a photo of Brynn’s actual marriage certificate.

The date stamped on it was from ten years ago. And in that photo, he was standing next to Sylvie.

Ten years. He had been married to Sylvie for ten years. And I had only been with him for seven.

The investigator explained that it had been an arranged marriage, set up by his family in their old house, meant to ward off bad luck. A fortune teller had said it only needed to last until he turned thirty. After that, they could part ways.

If Brynn had been honest with me from the start, I might have respected him.

But he chose to hide everything and even secretly had a child with that legal wife.

The thought of Brynn in bed with another woman made my stomach churn. I stumbled into the bathroom and vomited violently.

The sound must’ve woken him. Brynn rushed over, eyes turning red with panic as he reached for me.

“No, honey, we’re going to the hospital!”

I stared at the man before me, tears choking my voice as I asked, "Brynn, do you love me?"

He froze for a brief moment, then, without hesitation, pulled me into his arms and whispered, "Honey, of course I love you. You’re the one I love the most. What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?"

But how could a dream compare to this cruel reality?

He had been married to another woman for ten years. He had a child with her. And still, he couldn’t even bring himself to end it.

Was this really the love I once believed in?

I shut my eyes and wept in silence.

The next day, Brynn said he wanted to take me back to his hometown to visit "his deceased friend’s child," Solomon.

I didn’t refuse.

I had never truly looked at that child before. But today, I needed to see for myself.

I wouldn’t be able to let go unless I saw the truth with my own eyes.

Solomon lived in a villa near the old house under the care of her so-called "grandmother."

Brynn told me she was the child of a childhood friend who had passed away and that only her grandmother remained. He said he pitied the child.

He even encouraged me to meet her to see if we had any affinity.

But in my heart, I was cold as stone. Grandmother? Most likely, it was just an actress Brynn had arranged.

Before we even stepped through the door, a woman came running out and flung herself into his arms.

"Brother! You’re finally back! Did you come to see me?"

Sylvie clung to him, her voice soft with familiarity, her eyes brimming with dependence.

"Stop that, so clumsy, you can’t even walk straight!"

Brynn frowned, clearly annoyed, and shoved her off coldly.

The old me would’ve stepped in, smoothed things over, and told Brynn not to be so hard on his 'sister.'

But now, I simply looked at him, catching that brief flicker of gentleness that passed through his eyes.

I said nothing. I turned and walked upstairs, not to find Solomon, but to stand just beyond their sight, quietly watching from the staircase.

As expected, the moment I disappeared from view, Sylvie leaned into him again, her voice sweet as syrup.

"Brother, when are you going to give Solomon a rightful name? He cries every night for his daddy; it breaks my heart."

“Soon, just wait a little longer. Didn’t I already bring Natalie to see Solomon?”

When I wasn’t around, Brynn didn’t push Sylvie away again.

“Brother, Solomon is still so young. I really can’t bear it. After all, I carried him in my womb for ten months.”

Her voice was soft, tinged with grievance, like a whisper soaked in tears.

“Mom really likes Solomon too. She says he’s just like you were as a child, smart, obedient, and easy to love.”

At once, the image of that mother-in-law who’d never spared me a kind word rose vividly in my mind.

The whole Murphy family, from top to bottom, had played me like a fiddle.

For seven long years, through every New Year, every holiday, they’d sat and watched me and Sylvie on either side of Brynn. Did they think their son was reliving some ancient fantasy, one wife, one concubine?

Downstairs, Brynn stood straight as a board, his tone laced with impatience.

“I’ve already promised you Solomon will have the status of the Murphy family’s grandson. That’s as far as I’ll go. Don’t get greedy. My wife will always be Natalie.”

Hearing that, Sylvie’s expression faltered for a split second, but in the next moment, she composed herself. As if nothing had happened, she lifted her hand and let her fingers slip beneath the hem of his shirt.

Her smile turned sultry, but her voice carried a sugar-coated complaint.

“I never asked for much. Being listed as your ‘wife’ on the household registry is enough for me. Brother, tell me, between her and me, who’s wilder in bed?”

My chest tightened as if my breath had been slashed by a dull blade.

I couldn’t stop myself from looking at Brynn, desperate to see how he would react.

But what I saw made my heart plummet, his gaze turned hazy, his pupils darkening, and his Adam’s apple moved slightly.

In the next instant, he shoved Sylvie against the wall at the turn of the hallway, lowered his head close to her lips, and muttered hoarsely, “Of course, it’s you. Who could be wilder than you?”

Sylvie giggled, her fingers lazily hooking at his chest.

I stood frozen at the top of the stairs, my grip tight on the handrail, my knuckles turning white.

Hearing that, what else was left to figure out?

Brynn and Sylvie had been together all along, behind my back. And they weren’t just sneaky about it; they were playing with fire.

I remembered how, once upon a time, when Brynn had been swept up in passion, he’d suggested trying something more adventurous. But I, shy and hesitant, had refused.

Back then, he hadn’t pushed me. He simply held me and promised he’d listen to me.

I had thought it was kindness.

Now, I saw it for what it was; every single thing I’d refused, he’d probably shared with Sylvie.

My heart froze, and I couldn’t bear to watch it any longer.

I stomped heavily down the stairs.

The sharp click of my heels against the floor broke the silence, and in an instant, they sprang apart.

Brynn shoved Sylvie away so quickly, as if nothing had happened, then turned to me.

“Why are you down here so soon, honey? Did you enjoy meeting Solomon?”

I saw right through his calm act, and something lodged in my throat, I couldn’t get a word out.

Happy? How could I be happy?

He handed me another woman’s child, expecting me to play the role of the kind, understanding stepmother. Did he think I’d jump at the chance?

I forced my voice to remain steady, though it felt hollow as I said, “I thought about it. I’ve decided not to adopt.”

The moment the words escaped, Brynn’s face went pale.

“Why, honey?”

I clenched my fists until my nails.

How old was Solomon?

Seven.

And I had been married to Brynn for seven years.

Which meant, the year I eagerly stepped into this marriage, he already had a child.

All those years, I’d feared having children, and he’d comforted me with promises of not needing them; his child had already been running around, growing up.

And now, as I had finally come to terms with having a child of my own, his child was about to start elementary school.

Why, Brynn?

Why didn’t you tell me?