I Changed My Identity and Became My Childhood Sweetheart's Bride

Clair’s voice came through, teasing, “Aren’t you supposed to be at home, with your wife, Rose?”

Nathan chuckled lightly. “You invite me, remember? Besides, who wants to spend time with a mute? While, you, beautiful, are asking for trouble dressing like that.”

I couldn’t listen any longer. My finger pressed stop.

Mute. So, that’s all I was to him—a mute.

I let out a bitter laugh, the memories of his early promises flooding back. When everyone else mocked me for my silence, he stood by me, comforting me.

“You’re not mute; you’re just unwell. Don’t worry, you’ll get better. I won’t let anyone bully you.”

I used to feel so safe in his arms, but now? He was the one who had pushed me away. As I sat there, a new message appeared: [I’ve got everything ready. Your current identity is erased. This is your last chance to reconsider. Are you sure you want to leave Nathan?]

Without hesitation, I typed back one word. [Yes.]

Nathan returned shortly after, his face filled with guilt and concern. “Honey, I’m so sorry for not being there for you. Let me take care of you these next few days, okay?”

I didn’t respond, but he proved his words. In the days that followed, he stayed by my side, caring for me like a husband deeply in love with his wife.

One day, as I scrolled through my phone from my hospital bed, a headline popped up:

“Shocking! Clair's Jarvis Throwing Up On Set! Pregnancy Revealed?”

I froze, glancing at Nathan, who was sitting nearby. He wore a similarly stunned expression—clearly, he had seen it too.

“Honey, are you hungry? It’s about time to eat. Let me grab something for you,” he said, his voice overly casual.

I nodded, knowing full well he was using this as an excuse to leave and meet Clair.

Once he was gone, I got up and changed into my clothes. It was time to go.

As I left, I sent him a text. Passing by the obstetrics department, I caught a glimpse of Nathan holding Clair. Clair seemed nervous, while Nathan was tenderly comforting her. They both wore masks, though soon, they wouldn’t need to hide anymore. Once I left, they could be together openly.

I turned and walked away, heading to a car that had been waiting for me. Wilfred, seated in the driver’s seat, looked at me with deep concern. Seeing that I remained silent, he leaned over and gently fastened my seatbelt. Neither of us said a word as the car rolled forward, the silence hanging heavily between us throughout the drive.

Eventually, we arrived at a harbor and boarded a boat to a small island. Once there, Wilfred handed me a new ID card.

“This is your new identity,” he said.

Looking at the ID, I saw that everything about me had changed—except my gender. I signed to him, “Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

He gave me a faint smile. “You don’t need to thank me. I’m just glad you’re giving me a chance.”

Wilfred was my childhood friend. He was also the person I was originally betrothed to in an arranged marriage. If everything had gone as planned, he would have been my husband years ago. But I had thrown everything away for Nathan, falling for his sweet words and relentless pursuit. Now, years later, Wilfred was still here, helping me when I had nothing left.

“For now, you’ll stay here. Don’t worry; Nathan won’t find you. I’ve arranged for a doctor. I believe you can recover,” Wilfred said gently.

I nodded. His words ignited a faint glimmer of hope in my otherwise bleak life. The next day, I started treatment for my speech disorder. I had been trying to recover from my muteness since it was first diagnosed, but every attempt had ended in failure. I had long since given up hope. Yet Wilfred hadn’t given up on me—not even when Nathan and I had. The thought filled me with guilt.

Every day, I attended therapy sessions to practice speaking and communicating. Wilfred accompanied me without fail. He stayed by my side, encouraging me through language and communication exercises. Every small improvement brought him immense joy. Even when I managed to utter unclear, garbled sounds, he would beam with pride.

After what felt like an eternity of practice, I was finally able to say a complete sentence, though it came out haltingly and unevenly.

One day, after weeks of practice, Wilfred came to me with hands behind his back.

“Look, if you can say a sentence, I’ll give you a present,” he teased.

Meow. The faint sound gave away his surprise gift—a kitten. Embarrassed, he scratched his head as I laughed softly.

“Tha-thank you…W-wil…fred,” My words came out stilted, each syllable deliberated, but to Wilfred, it was a monumental breakthrough. It was also the first time I had ever said his name.

But Wilfred’s eyes welled with tears. Setting the kitten aside, he wrapped me in a tight embrace. Perhaps it was the warmth of his unwavering companionship, after all these years that I didn’t resist him. After a brief hesitation, I even hugged him back.