My Husband of Twenty-Five Years Married My Cousin

"Joyce," he said once, voice low and intimate, his arm lazily wrapped around my shoulder, "I know you’d take care of me better than anyone, even Maine. I love her, yes, I want her, but she’d choose her career over me any day. You—Joyce, you’re the type who’d serve, who’d stay. And for that, I’ll give you the best life you could imagine."

I believed him. Like a fool, I believed him. I let him register our marriage. No ceremony. No friends. No flowers. Just two signatures on cold, government-issued paper and a promise I etched into my heart like scripture. I was in love. So painfully in love. But now I see it—he never chose me. I was never the first. I was the fallback. The safe place to land when Maine took off for her ambitions.

And now? I was just… the maid who shared his last name.

The next day, not a single soul in the house asked if I had slept well. No one noticed my red-rimmed eyes or the tremble in my hands as I poured coffee. Instead, the living room buzzed with laughter and shallow excitement.

The scent of fresh fabric filled the air as designer bags lay scattered over the couch. I stood silently, hands clasped together, watching them marvel over their outfits like it was the most important day of their lives.

My son turned to me, grinning wide. “Mom, guess what? We’re attending a wedding on the cruise, aside from the business trip or course! Isn’t that amazing? It’s gonna be such a big event!”

I blinked, pretending not to know whose wedding it would be. “A wedding?”

Maine was standing near him, holding up a white dress against her body, checking herself in the hallway mirror.

I frowned, curious. “Who’s getting married? Why can’t I come with you?”

My father scoffed as if I’d asked something ridiculous. “You’re staying here to take care of the house, of course. And since when are you interested in these things? It’s someone from Bradley’s business circle, nothing related to you.”

I forced a smile. A pathetic little curve of my lips. “Of course.”

“Don’t worry, Mom,” my son added, chuckling, “We’ll bring back lots of souvenirs. I know you love those herbal oils from duty-free.”

Maine giggled behind him, and said, "We'll just send photos, so you will be updated."

My chest tightened.

Bradley, appearing from the hallway in a tailored shirt, tossed a pile of clothes into my arms. “Here. Iron these. And be careful—they’re expensive.”

The morning of their departure, the house was loud with perfume, zipped luggages, and last-minute instructions. I stood in the corner, quietly folding last-minute scarves, fixing collars, adjusting buttons. My role was clear: the background woman. Invisible until something went wrong.

A shriek from the hallway. “My dress!” Maine cried out. “There’s a hole in it!”

Everyone rushed in. The white dress—elegant, pristine, absurdly expensive—had a tiny tear near the hem. But it was enough to ruin her morning.

Bradley turned, eyes blazing. “Joyce! What the hell did you do?”

“I—I didn’t do anything. I sent it to the shop, just like the others. They must’ve—”

“I told you to handle it, not strangers! Why would you let someone else touch her dress? Are you going to pay for this?!”

“I— I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” Maine said gently, stepping in like a peacekeeper. “Don’t be mad at her. She’s your wife.”

Bradley scoffed. “Yeah. My useless wife.”

He turned away from me without another glance, wrapping an arm around Maine’s shoulder. “Let’s go get you another one. We’ll be late if we don’t leave now.”

He threw the dress at me. I stood frozen. As they gathered their luggage, laughing and chatting about the events on the cruise, I stared at the empty doorway. They didn’t even look back. Not one.