Thirty Years a Housewife, Never Once a Bride

On her thirtieth wedding anniversary, Tiffany got hit by a car after grocery shopping. On such a day, blood streamed from her injuries.

She called her husband, Bryce Bongiovi, over and over. But his phone was turned off the entire time.

Worried about getting home in time to make lunch for the family, she had her wounds roughly bandaged and insisted on leaving the hospital.

When she returned, she found a thick stack of wedding invitations laying neatly on the coffee table.

Her old heart, long numb, started racing like a teenager’s.

Thirty years ago, Tiffany and Bryce came from poor families. They skipped a wedding ceremony and went straight to registering their marriage.

Over the years, she brought up the idea again and again. But he always brushed her off with the same words. “Let’s wait a bit longer.”

For years, she had believed that having her dream wedding was impossible in this lifetime. Unexpectedly, though her husband never said it out loud, his actions seemed to prove that he still loved her.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the invitations to take a closer look—only to be stopped by a sharp, loud voice.

“Don’t you touch that!”

Bryce frowned at her, impatience written all over his face.

“Do you have any idea what time it is? Why are you only getting back now? Hurry up and start cooking!”

She had just set down the grocery bags when Flynn, her son, casually pulled off his suit jacket and tossed it at her.

“Mom, hurry and wash this for me. I’ll need it in a couple of days!”

Was he going to wear it to the wedding that his dad was planning for her?

She barely managed to hold her excitement when her fingers brushed something inside the jacket pocket—a photo.

It was a Polaroid of Bryce and… Brittany—her younger sister.

The timestamp in the lower right corner showed it was taken that same morning. On the back was her son’s messy handwriting in pen.

[Went with Dad to pick up Aunt Brittany from the airport. Wishing both of them a happy wedding soon!]

Suddenly, Tiffany’s ears started buzzing.

So that morning, when she’d been lying injured after the accident, calling her husband again and again, he didn’t pick up the phone because… he was at the airport, picking up her sister who had returned to the country.

The wedding invitations on the coffee table—they weren’t for a wedding ceremony meant for her. They were for her husband and her sister!

Thirty years… Tiffany had worked herself to the bone for this family that long, only to end up with this?!

At this point, something inside her went completely cold.

Turning around, she called the man who had secretly loved her for over ten years—a top lawyer who had never married.

“I want a divorce. And I want to sell my marital house. I’d like you to handle everything. Is that alright?”

…

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end before a low, magnetic voice replied.

“Of course.”

He paused, then added, “Bet you finally see it, huh? I told you thirty years ago—that goddamn bastard didn’t love you. Marrying him would never make you happy.”

As soon as she heard those words, Tiffany’s nose stung, and tears nearly spilled over.

“I’m sorry…” she muttered. “I should’ve believed you back then.”

For a long time, the line went quiet again.

“All right. Don’t cry,” the man finally said. “Realizing it now isn’t too late. I’ll handle everything you asked for. I’m not gonna let you down, Tiff.”

That sentence was all it took; by then, tears streamed down her face.

After all these years, the one person who understood her best… was still him—Barron Guerrero.

After hanging up, Tiffany endured the pain from her injuries and stood in the sweltering forty-degree heat, working her ass off in the kitchen for two full hours.

She set the last dish on the table and had just untied her grease-stained apron when the doorbell suddenly rang.

As she wiped the sweat from her face and went to open the door, her husband—who never concerned himself with such things—rushed ahead of her.

“Surprise!”

Brittany beamed as she wrapped her arms around Bryce’s neck and leapt into his embrace, even shooting his wife a playful wink.

“Tiffany! I’m back! Surprised? Shocked?”

A bitterness so deep it reached Tiffany’s bones welled up in her heart, slowly weighing down her body.

No, she was not surprised or shocked at all. Everyone in this apartment already knew Brittany was returning to the country today. Two had even gone to the airport to pick her up.

Tiffany’s heart soured, but her face stayed composed as she welcomed her sister calmly.

“You’re here. Go ahead and sit. It’s almost lunchtime. Let’s eat together.”

Brittany made herself at home. She slipped out of Bryce’s arms and walked straight to the table, taking the seat beside him—the one that had always belonged to his wife.

Ignoring it, Tiffany just quietly served the salad.

Across from her, her sister was laughing and chatting with Bryce.

Brittany casually asked, “Why does my sister look like she’s in a bad mood today?”

Bryce frowned.

“Isn’t she always like that? She always looks miserable, like the whole world owes her eight million or something. Nothing like you—you’re cheerful like the sun. Anyone would feel better just seeing you.”

When he got to the latter half, his expression softened. Even his voice grew gentle.

Flynn chimed in from the side. “Dad, you and Auntie have way too much chemistry. Anyone who didn’t know better would think you’re a couple!”

“Hey, don’t say that,” Brittany said, pretending to scold him. “I’m still single, you know!”

Flynn laughed even louder and nudged his father meaningfully.

“Well, not for long, Auntie! You’re way too gorgeous to stay single. Some handsome guy’s definitely gonna score. If my mom were half as hot as you, I’d be over the moon even in my dreams.”

That compliment made Brittany’s face flush.

She was in her early forties but well-maintained, looking more like she was in her twenties or thirties.

Tiffany watched the three in the living room and felt strangely detached for a moment. They looked so happy together—more like a real family than she did.

From the very moment Tiffany married Bryce, Brittany had always been around. She visited their marital home every few days, clinging to her brother-in-law.

When she was younger, Tiffany would get jealous. But Bryce had scolded her for it.

“Have you lost your goddamn mind? Tiffany, Brittany’s your own sister! How can you be jealous of your sister? Jeez, you’re a fucking adult. Grow up, will you?!”

After that, she never dared say another word again.

She just watched him peel apples for Brittany. She just watched them share the same glass of drinks. She just watched her own husband go to the next door to tuck Brittany in at night before coming back to her…

Each time, her heart felt like it was being torn apart.

He knew too well Brittany was his wife’s sister. And yet, he never kept his distance.

Later, Brittany went abroad to study. Bryce and Tiffany went to see her off.

Tiffany returned from the restroom after realizing she’d forgotten some tissues… only to see her husband sneakily stuff a pink diamond necklace into her sister’s hand.

“You women all like diamonds, right?” he said softly. “I saved up my own money for years to buy this for you. Don’t let your sister find out. Since we got married, I’ve never given her anything.”

At that moment, it was like a heavy hammer slammed into Tiffany’s chest. It was so painful her vision went black.

So he knew—he’d never given her anything, he never prepared surprises for her.

She had thought he was just old-fashioned and unromantic. But the scene in front of her slapped her awake.

“I’ve been wearing high heels and walking all day. My feet are killing me! How about a foot massage after lunch? My treat!”

Brittany’s sweet voice came, pulling Tiffany back to the present.

Flynn jumped in right away.

“Sounds great! We should go! We should go! I know a really good place nearby. Dad, let’s go after we eat!”

Bryce nodded. “Sure.”

Neither of them asked Tiffany.

Only Brittany turned to her. “What about you, Tiffany? Wanna come along?”

Flynn curled his lips.

“Why invite her? She’s just a housewife who knows nothing but chores. She wouldn’t know how to enjoy herself. Auntie, don’t bother. If you keep talking, she’ll just say you’re wasting money.”

Bryce nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, Brittany. Your sister won’t go. She still has chores to do this afternoon.”

The bitterness in Tiffany’s chest finally settled into clarity, making her scoff at herself. For all these years, this so-called family of hers had never once cared about what she wanted.

To them, she was just a tireless servant—a robot that existed solely to cook, clean, and take care of them, with no life of her own.

Luckily, she’d already decided to divorce Bryce.

This miserable life? It’s going to end pretty soon.