Always Second to His Past

After the New Year, some of my husband's former students are back to visit him. So, my husband, Isaac Cooper, treats them to dinner.

They greet us warmly, but when they first see me, there is a hint of surprise in their eyes.

In the private room, Isaac takes my hand.

Everyone starts teasing us. "Mr. and Mrs. Cooper are so loving. I'm so jealous!"

I lower my head shyly and excuse myself to the restroom, only to overhear two of his students chatting.

"I was startled just now. I thought Mr. Cooper's wife would be Lilith Walker."

"But Mrs. Cooper looks so much like her. When she walked in, I almost mistook her for Lilith."

I freeze on the spot.

I know Lilith is Isaac's ex-girlfriend, but I have never seen her in person.

Cold water runs over my hands. As I look at my carefully made-up face in the mirror, I suddenly feel a wave of nausea.

I returned to my seat while the students continued clinking glasses and exchanging toasts. Isaac Cooper had turned slightly to the side, listening as the man next to him began a toast.

As I looked at his profile, my thoughts drifted uncontrollably back into the past.

Isaac had always been particular, especially when it came to how I dressed. From the moment we started dating, he gradually took over most of my wardrobe.

Whether I preferred minimalist outfits or comfortable sportswear, he always insisted on dressing me in the same carefully selected styles. He chose elegant dresses paired with knit cardigans, plain cashmere coats in solid tones, and a variety of small, delicate pearl accessories.

Earlier that day, I had planned to wear a black designer jacket, but he had frowned and selected the white dress I was now wearing instead. I had assumed it was simply his personal preference, yet after hearing that conversation earlier, everything now felt strangely unsettling.

The way the students looked at me seemed off, as if there was something unspoken behind their smiles. Each time they addressed me as "Mrs. Cooper", it felt like it carried an additional layer of meaning.

Suddenly, a deep cello note echoed through the noisy private room as the background music transitioned to something softer.

A female student then exclaimed, "Isn't this Lilith's favorite? We used to play it in the lab every day. I practically have it memorized."

My heart tightened at once, and I instinctively turned to look at Isaac.

He showed no unusual reaction. Instead, he picked up a piece of deboned fish and placed it into my bowl, saying gently, "You said you haven't had much of an appetite lately. Eat a bit more."

I smiled and accepted it.

A few hours later, I managed to get through the meal, all the while burdened by a heavy, oppressive mood.

Isaac drove and habitually turned on the car's audio system.

He freed his right hand to hold mine, brushing his thumb lightly over the back of my hand. "It must have been exhausting for you to deal with those kids today.

As his hand warmed mine, I sat quietly, watching the scenery blur past the window.

After a pop song ended, the system automatically switched to the next track. The moment the intro began, my heart seemed to stop beating.

It was the same light music the female student had brought up earlier, Lilith's favorite. The car display showed it belonged to Isaac's most frequently played playlist.

At the first note, his grip on my hand tightened. He immediately tapped the screen several times and switched to another track.

"I gave a colleague a ride a couple of days ago. He picked it randomly, and I forgot to delete it."

I noticed the tension in his jaw but remained silent, giving only a soft hum in acknowledgment.

Still, that fleeting melody and his forced excuse were enough to erase whatever warmth was left in my heart, leaving it ice-cold.