She’s Your Wife, Then What Am I?
When I got the news that my husband was having surgery, I braved a full–on hurricane- pouring rain, howling winds–and drove four hours straight back to the city.
By the time I made it to the hospital, Evan was lying in the hospital bed, groggy but loud, demanding, “Where’s my wife? Someone get my wife here!”
His friends, gathered around him, started teasing him, calling him whipped and saying
how hopelessly in love he was with me.
Everyone always said he adored me to no end.
Blushing, I walked over with a shy smile, feeling a mix of relief and happiness. I gently
took his hand and reassured him softly, “I’m here.”
But to my shock, Evan frowned, yanked his hand away, and looked at me like I was some
stranger.
“Get lost!” he snapped, his voice filled with disdain. “You’re not my wife! My wife is Sofia!”
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The once lively hospital room fell into an awkward silence after Evan’s outburst.
His group of buddies immediately looked uncomfortable, avoiding my gaze like guilty children caught in the act.
I scanned their faces, and it all became painfully clear: they knew about Sofia.
In that moment, I felt like a complete fool. The sweetness and shyness I’d shown just moments before–how pathetic and laughable it must have seemed to them.
One of them tried to stammer an explanation. “Um… don’t take it seriously, okay? Evan’s still out of it from the anesthesia. He’s just talking nonsense.”
The rest quickly chimed in:
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“Yeah, everyone knows how much he loves you. He’s totally whipped–this has to be the drugs talking.”
“Exactly! Sofia’s just his secretary. She could never compare to you in his heart.”
But one of them nudged the speaker, signaling him to shut up.
I didn’t say a word. I just stood there, numb. My feet, soaked from standing in rainwater for over four hours, felt cold and lifeless.
Meanwhile, Evan kept calling out, “Where’s my wife? Where’s my wife? Mason, call my
wife! Hurry!”
His voice softened, tinged with a childlike sadness. “I want to hold her. Why doesn’t she
care about me?”
I held his hand tightly and asked, “Evan, who am I?”
He blinked at me, his eyes unfocused, and after a long pause, he muttered three words: “The old hag.”
I forced a laugh, though tears blurred my vision.
So this was it. From high school sweethearts at seventeen to marriage at thirty, after just four years of being his wife, I’d already become “the old hag” in his eyes.
In the end, I took Evan’s phone and called Sofia.
She arrived quickly. The moment she entered, she ignored me entirely, rushing to Evan’s side like a heroine in a romance movie. Grabbing his hand, her eyes reddened with emotion as she cried, “Evan, I’m so sorry I’m late!”
Evan’s eyes lit up instantly, his face breaking into a wide smile. He pulled her into a hug and said, “You’re finally here, honey. I missed you so much.”
“Someone tried to pretend to be you earlier,” he added, glaring in my direction. “But I wasn’t stupid enough to fall for it. I told her to get lost!”
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Sofia glanced at me smugly before turning back to Evan and cooing, “My husband is so
smart.”
Evan pointed to his lips, grinning like a child. “Don’t I deserve a reward?”
Without hesitation, the two started kissing, completely oblivious to everyone else in the
room.
I watched, my throat tight and my chest aching. My eyes stung with unshed tears, and my entire body felt like it was trembling uncontrollably. No matter how hard I dug my nails into my leg, the cold numbness wouldn’t go away.
Mason, one of Evan’s friends, finally broke the silence, his voice soft and
hesitant. “Maybe… you should head home for now? Once Evan wakes up, I’m sure he’ll explain everything to you.”
Explain?
I turned to him, my face streaked with tears.
I didn’t want to cry–especially not in front of Sofia. Crying in front of her felt like admitting defeat, like exposing my humiliation for her to revel in. But I couldn’t stop the tears from falling.
Just half an hour ago, Evan had been my perfect husband. My pride. My safe haven.
We’d been together for thirteen years, and in all that time, we’d never once had a serious fight. I thought it was because of his endless patience and love for me.
But now? That perfect image had been shattered, and the earthquake it caused in my heart left nothing but devastation.
I walked out of the hospital room in silence.
As I stepped through the door, I heard the collective sigh of relief from Evan’s friends, like they’d just gotten rid of a burden.
At some point, I’d been quietly pushed out of Evan’s life–and his inner circle–without even realizing it.
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That night, I couldn’t sleep.
I replayed every moment of our thirteen years together in my mind, every sweet memory now bitter and suffocating.
At some point, I developed a fever. My body felt unbearably hot, yet I couldn’t wake up n matter how hard I tried. It was as if I were trapped in a nightmare I couldn’t escape.
Just as I thought I might die, I felt a hand on my forehead and heard someone calling m softly, “Honey, wake up. Please.”
I couldn’t respond. I didn’t have the strength. All I could do was let the tears roll silently down my face.
When I finally woke up, the fever had broken,
The first thing I saw was Evan sitting by my bedside, looking utterly exhausted.
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