I Watched as My Husband Marry His First Love

After leaving the wedding, I went straight to a hotel, took a long shower, changed my clothes, and headed to the bank.

There, I transferred the entire demolition compensation from my maiden family into a separate account.

Eight figures.

The number was heavy, cold, but oddly reassuring.

This was the money I had once planned to use for Damian’s retirement and to help raise my future grandchildren.

But now, I regretted everything.

Money may not be able to buy love, but at the very least, it could buy me a clean, dignified exit from this sham of a life.

I paid the remaining balance for the seaside villa—the one on the island I used to dream about as a teenager. I’d seen it in magazines, where the breeze was gentle, and coconut trees sway in rows.

I used to say, “Once the kid grows up, and Damian retires, we’ll go there together.”

Damian always laughed and said, “Where would we get that kind of money? It’s hard enough just to make ends meet.”

Looking back now, all I did was save money for him and his precious first love—while sacrificing my youth and dreams.

But this time, I’m taking my life back.

I contacted a lawyer and asked someone to draft a divorce agreement. I told myself that once Damian returned, I would have him sign it.

He had already married Eleanor in every way that mattered. What was he still holding on to me for?

But the lawyer furrowed his brows after reviewing the documents.

“Ms. Campbell,” he said cautiously, “legally speaking... your marriage doesn’t exist.”

I froze. “What do you mean?”

“We can’t find any record of your marriage registration. According to the Civil Affairs Bureau, Mr. Damian is not registered as married.”

“No... that’s impossible.” My voice cracked, hoarse with disbelief. I stared at the computer screen. “I remember—he held my hand and took me to the civil office. We filled out the forms, took the photo, and got the certificate... I wore a white dress. He even said I looked just as beautiful as the day we first met, twenty years ago.”

The lawyer was silent.

Seeing my reddened eyes, he hesitated for a moment before offering, “We can go check again—I'll go with you.”

At the Civil Affairs Bureau, the staff checked the system three times, and even rummaged through the old paper archives.

Finally, they looked up with a complicated expression and shook their heads.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Campbell. There’s no record of your marriage with Mr. Sanders.”

I slumped into the chair, dizzy, the world spinning around me.

Then what was the past forty years of my life?

I bore Damian a child, supported the family, cooked, cleaned, took on debts, raised our son—all of it, day in and day out, for decades. And now you’re telling me...

I wasn’t even legally his wife?

My first thought was—Did Ethan know?

But then, I laughed.

He had long since chosen Eleanor as his mother, stood proudly by her side, calling her “family,” “mother,” “the one who raised him.”

Even if he knew the truth, would he care?

In a daze, I went home.

I walked straight upstairs, heading to my room to pack my things.

But the moment I opened the door, I froze.

Eleanor was lying on my bed, wrapped in the quilt I had spent six months embroidering.

Beside her pillow was a framed photo of her, Damian, and Ethan—posing like a picture-perfect family.

The moment she saw me, she let out a fake, startled gasp, then slowly sat up.

“Oh... you’re back? I didn’t think you’d come home today. I couldn’t sleep last night, and Ethan insisted I stay in your room. Said your room had good ambience. I didn’t want to argue with him.”

She yawned, then deliberately lifted the quilt, flashing the dazzling diamond ring on her finger beneath her sleepwear. Brushing her hair back with a smug smile, she said, “This? Oh, it’s from Damian. He said he owed me far too much over the years—and no matter how much he gives, it’ll never be enough.”

I stood in the doorway, as if nailed to the ground. Clenching my fist, I snapped, “Enough. I don’t want to hear it. Get out of my room—now.”

But Eleanor didn’t even flinch. She continued lazily, like she owned the place. “Don’t be mad. Damian only married you because he was confused. If my parents hadn’t forced me to go abroad back then, do you really think you’d ever have gotten the title of Mrs. Sanders?”

She gave me a pitying smile and continued, “Honestly, I kind of admire you, Audrey. You managed to live in a dream for decades without ever realizing the whole marriage was fake. How do you stay that naive for so long?”

She emphasized the word “fake”, as if to stab me with it.

“But don’t worry. I’m not heartless. Once I recover a bit, I’ll convince Damian to give you some compensation. After all, you did contribute something to our family. Even if you were never the real wife, you were at least a good little housekeeper.”

Then, she deliberately glanced at my outfit from head to toe, and added, “Though, looking at you now... it’s no wonder Ethan won’t acknowledge you. If I were him, I wouldn’t want to call you ‘Mom’ either.”

Rage surged in my chest. My vision went black.

I raised my hand and slapped her across the face hard.

Eleanor yelped and stumbled out of the room, clutching her cheek, screaming dramatically, “Damian! Audrey has gone crazy! She hit me!”