After Seven Years,I Was Never His Wife

Perhaps because Brynn’s birthday was drawing near, Sylvie began to lose her grip. She started provoking me on purpose, trying every trick to get under my skin.

The day before his birthday, she walked downstairs holding a stack of folders. It was as if, by accident, a few papers had slipped from her hands and scattered right at my feet.

Looking down, I saw a photocopy of a marriage certificate.

She bent down in a hurry, pretending to be flustered, and muttered, “Oh no, it fell down. Sorry. I was making copies for my ID renewal and forgot to put it away.”

I said nothing. I didn’t even lift my eyes.

She paused, clearly thrown off, then forced a smile and added,

“Sister-in-law, you probably didn’t see it clearly, right? I look terrible in the photo, so embarrassing.”

She kept her eyes locked on mine, desperate to find a crack in my expression, a flicker of emotion, a hint of jealousy. But there was nothing.

I closed my book and replied coolly, “Didn’t see it. Pack up your things and leave the room.”

Sylvie stood frozen, lips trembling, before biting down in defeat and walking away with her tail between her legs.

But she wasn’t finished.

That afternoon, as I headed out to run a few errands, I passed the garden and caught the voices of a few elderly women chatting away:

“That little boy, Solomon, right? He’s the spitting image of his father! Especially those eyes, just like how Mr. Brynn looked when he was young.”

“More than that, I think he even resembles his god-sister. The nose, the corners of the mouth, it’s uncanny. Like they were cut from the same mold…”

“Anyone who didn’t know better would think they’re the real married couple.”

I stood quietly by the wall, sipping from a glass of water.

The reflection on the glass mirrored my blank expression.

Of course, Solomon looked like them.

He was their child.

It was clear then Sylvie had begun to panic.

She feared I wouldn’t walk away from Brynn. And if I stayed, all her careful schemes would crumble into dust, leaving her with nothing.

So she made a gamble, one last reckless move to push me out for good.

On the day of the birthday banquet, the hall brimmed with guests.

Sylvie stepped in, bold and brazen in a striking red dress, holding Solomon’s hand like a queen making her grand entrance, like she was claiming her throne for all to see.

“Mommy, can we sit here?”

“Yes, Solomon, be good.”

She smiled, poised and radiant. Solomon’s voice rang out, “Mommy!”

Heads turned instantly.

The crowd stirred into a frenzy.

“Wait, wasn’t Sylvie supposed to be Brynn’s god-sister? That boy’s already so big?”

“Didn’t Brynn always date Natalie? Since when did the kid start calling Sylvie ‘Mommy’?”

“Divorced? When did that happen? I’ve never heard a word!”

“God-sister? More like a mistress in disguise!”

Brynn’s face went rigid. Just as he moved to stand and explain, Solomon clutched Sylvie’s leg tightly and shouted even louder, “She’s my real mommy! Aunt Natalie isn’t! Daddy, can Mommy live with us too?”

A heavy silence fell across the room like a curtain.

The elders looked at each other, confused and uneasy.

Even Brynn’s friends were at a loss, exchanging puzzled glances.

Brynn stood frozen. Solomon, suddenly defiant, kept calling Sylvie “Mom.”

He tried calling me, hoping I would pick up and clear the air.

But all he got was a cold, mechanical voice. “The number you have dialed is temporarily unavailable.”

His brows knitted together. Before he could dial again, whispers stirred nearby, “I think they really divorced. Natalie just posted on her Instagram.”

“What?!”

Brynn’s voice caught in his throat. His fingers trembled as he yanked out his phone and pulled up my page.

Right at the top is my all-too-familiar account.

Staring back at him was a red marriage certificate.

That bright crimson cover scorched his eyes like a brand, burning straight through him.

Then, his eyes dropped to the name etched below, Natalie.

And the groom’s name wasn’t his. It wasn’t him.

His world rang with a hollow roar, like a dam bursting inside his chest. He stood frozen as though something had been ripped from him, leaving only silence in its wake.

With shaking hands, Brynn tapped on the photo.

The man standing beside me had a clean, handsome profile, tall and upright, with a soft gaze aimed at the camera.

I stood beside him, wearing a smile long lost to time.

Below the image was a simple caption. [From now on, stepping into a new life.]

His gaze froze.