My Husband Faked Our Marriage

The scent of antiseptic hit me before the pain did.

My eyes fluttered open slowly, each blink heavy and blurred. The ceiling lights above were too bright, the walls too white.

My body screamed in protest as I tried to shift—sharp, pulsing pain flared through my lower abdomen. I gasped and sank back into the pillows, my breath catching.

A soft voice broke the silence.

“You’re awake,” the nurse said gently. She looked kind, with worry in her eyes. “Don’t move too much, sweetheart. You’ve been through a lot.”

I swallowed against the dryness in my throat. “What… what happened?”

“You were stabbed in the stomach. It was serious. But we were able to stop the bleeding and stitch the wound.” Her voice softened. “There’s something else you should know.”

I turned my head slightly, confused. “What is it?”

The nurse hesitated. “We didn’t realize until surgery… but you were pregnant.”

She gave me a moment. “I’m so sorry. The trauma from the injury… we couldn’t save the baby.”

My mind went blank. Pregnant? A baby?

I hadn’t even known. I hadn’t… A dull roar filled my ears, and a strange stillness settled in my chest, like the silence after a scream that never came.

The nurse reached for my hand. “Do you want me to call your family?”

I didn’t answer her. I just reached for my phone with trembling fingers.

I dialed Johansen’s number. One ring. Two. Then someone picked up.

But it wasn’t his voice. It was Maureen.

“Well, well,” she said mockingly. “What do you need?”

My breath hitched. “Where’s Johansen?”

She laughed, the sound as cold as her words. “Still calling him like he’s yours? Sweetheart… when are you going to stop pretending?”

I said nothing, frozen.

“He’s here. With me. Like always,” Maureen went on. “Even when you’re hurting, even when you’re bleeding—he still runs to me. You know that, right? So why keep acting like you matter?”

“Maureen—”

“No. You listen to me. He’s mine. He always comes back to me. So how about you finally do what everyone’s been waiting for… and leave?”

I couldn’t breathe.

“Oh,” she added, her voice sickeningly sweet, “and just so you know—”

A pause.

“You’re not the wife.”

The line went dead.

I stared at the screen, her words echoing in the sterile silence of the hospital room. And for the first time, there were no tears. Just a hollow, endless silence.

Just then, my phone buzzed weakly on the bedside table. I reached for it with trembling fingers and saw a message from my mother: Everything’s ready now. I’ll pick you up anytime you’re ready to go.

I stared at the screen for a long time.

This was it. I buzzed the nurse. “I want to discharge myself. Now.”

“But—”

“I’m stable. I’ll sign whatever I need to. Please.”

Reluctantly, they handed me the forms. I changed into a simple outfit, covering the bandage over my stitches, then stepped into the hallway. I moved slowly, carefully, every step a reminder of the pain I’d survived.

And that’s when I saw them.

Johansen and Maureen. Standing just outside the OB-GYN department. Their backs were turned, but I didn’t need to see their faces to know it was them.

Maureen’s voice carried across the corridor. “Are you sure you should be with me? You heard she was robbed and stabbed…”

“I know,” Johansen replied, sighing. “But she’ll be fine. I’ll see her later in her room. For now… this is about you. We’re husband and wife. It’s only natural we hear what the doctor says about our baby—together.”

I stopped breathing.

It felt like my last thread of illusion snapped. He had lied to me so thoroughly, so deliberately… I didn’t even exist in that moment—not to him. Not as his wife. Not as the woman who had believed in their fairy-tale.

I turned, refusing to let them see me cry. I walked out of that hospital like a ghost, each step faster than the last.

I didn’t remember the drive home.

All I knew was that the second I stepped inside the house, something inside me shattered for good.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just moved. Numb and focused.

I pulled out a suitcase—then another. Opened every drawer. Grabbed every shirt of Johansen’s I’d once folded with love. His jackets. His shoes. The cologne I used to love on him. Gone. Into the trash bags. Gone.

I tore the framed photo of our wedding from the wall and smashed it against the corner of the table. Shards scattered across the tiles. The glass sliced my finger, but I didn’t care. It felt fitting.

Then came the dress. My wedding dress. The symbol of every lie he ever told. I dragged it outside into the backyard, dumped it into the firepit, and threw in lighter fluid. The spark caught quickly. The silk twisted and burned like it had been waiting years to fall apart.

As the flames grew higher, I added more—his letters, the old tulips he once dried for me, the love notes I had stupidly tucked in drawers.

That was when Johansen arrived.

His car door slammed, footsteps crunching on the gravel.

“Cassandra? What the hell are you doing?”

I didn’t even flinch. “Decluttering.”

He looked between me and the fire. “You’re burning my things.”

“I’m making space. I thought I’d donate what’s left. Don’t worry,” I said, my voice cool and even. “It’s just old memories.”

He stared, uneasy, but didn’t press further. Typical. He never asked questions he didn’t want the answers to.

“Right,” he said after a pause, brushing it off like it was nothing. “Listen, while you’re out—Maureen’s craving something sweet. Pick up some fruits, will you?”

I turned slowly. “Why me?”

He blinked. “You’re good at it, babe. Come on.”

My jaw tightened. “Really? That’s what you’re going to say to me right now? Not even ask if I’m okay? Not even mention that I almost died yesterday?”

He scoffed. “But you are okay, right? You’re standing here. Breathing. I mean, nothing happened. You’ll heal.”

I stared at him. Cold. Speechless.

“But with Maureen…” he went on, “She’s sensitive now. She needs things to be just right. So just do it. No questions asked.”

Then he turned and walked inside, calling out to her. I could hear her giggling, then his voice lowered—kissing sounds and soft murmurs. Like they had already built a new world without me.

I looked down. Blood had soaked through my shirt again, the bandages not holding well. But he hadn’t noticed. Or cared.

He didn’t even know I had lost our baby.

And now… I had lost everything. I didn’t cry.

Instead, I wiped my hands, walked back inside, and pretended to follow his orders. I grabbed a tote bag, pretended to go to the store, even bought some apples and strawberries. I returned, even cooked dinner. Set it on the table like I was the maid.

But what they didn’t know was that I put something in the meal to scare them. Because if I suffer due to my unborn baby I didn’t even know existed, then they should too.

I left while they’re both busy laughing and kissing. They didn’t even notice me.

I was already in the airport check-in line when my phone began to buzz again and again.

Johansen. First a call. Then a barrage of messages.

Johansen: What did you put in the food?? Maureen is vomiting everywhere! She’s sick! If something happens to our her, I swear—I’ll kill you. Where are you? Come back now!

I typed slowly: I lost our baby today. From the stabbing. But I guess you don’t care. I’m not your legal wife, right? Goodbye, Johansen. I don’t want to ever see you again.

I attached the photo I had taken—of his and Maureen’s real marriage certificate.

I hit send.

Then, calmly, I blocked his number. Slid the SIM card out of my phone. Snapped it in two. And dropped it into the nearest trash bin.

The plane began boarding. And for the first time in years, I exhaled without his name sitting on my chest like a weight I could never shake off.