The Wife He Never Loved

The candles on the anniversary cake had already burned out.

One by one, the tiny flames disappeared until only thin trails of smoke remained above the cake.

I stared at them for a long moment.

Then I looked at the clock..

Twelve days before Christmas.

Our third wedding anniversary.

It was supposed to be special.

I had spent the entire afternoon preparing everything.

Jasper's favorite dishes covered the dining table—roasted chicken with herbs, creamy pasta, garlic shrimp, and the chocolate cake he loved so much that he once told me it was the only cake he would willingly eat for the rest of his life.

I had even decorated the cake myself.

Three small red roses sat in the center.

One rose for every year we had been married.

I smiled bitterly at the thought.

Three years.

It sounded like such a long time.

But sometimes, being married to Jasper felt like I had only been waiting for him to come home.

I picked up my phone from the table and opened our messages.

My last message had been sent at 8:02.

Are you coming home soon? Dinner is ready.

He had seen it.

No response.

I stared at the word Seen beneath my message.

My thumb hovered over the call button.

I hesitated.

Then I called him.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then the call ended.

He had declined it.

My chest tightened.

I slowly lowered the phone.

"It's okay," I whispered to myself.

Maybe he was busy.

Maybe something happened at work.

Maybe there was a problem with one of his clients.

Maybe—

I stopped.

I had become an expert at making excuses for my husband.

Whenever Jasper forgot something important, I found a reason for him.

Whenever he came home late, I convinced myself he had a good explanation.

Whenever he seemed distant, I told myself that marriage wasn't always perfect.

And whenever he looked at another woman with the kind of warmth I desperately wanted from him, I reminded myself that he had chosen me.

But tonight, even I couldn't convince myself anymore.

I looked at the empty chair across from mine.

"Happy anniversary, Jasper."

My voice cracked.

I quickly looked away.

I didn't want to cry.

I had promised myself that tonight would be different.

I had bought a new dress.

I had curled my hair.

I had even put on the perfume Jasper once said smelled beautiful on me.

When I looked at myself in the mirror earlier, I had felt almost like the woman I used to be.

Happy.

Hopeful.

In love.

Now, I just looked tired.

I stood up and began clearing the table.

The food was already cold.

I placed the plates in the kitchen and returned for the wine glasses.

Then I heard a car outside.

My heart immediately jumped.

I froze.

A car door slammed.

I hurried toward the front door.

For some ridiculous reason, I smiled.

"Jasper."

The front door opened a few seconds later.

He stepped inside.

He was wearing the same dark suit he had left in that morning.

His hair was slightly messy.

He looked exhausted.

But there was something else in his expression.

Something I couldn't explain.

He looked almost...

happy.

Until he saw me.

His smile disappeared.

"You're still awake?"

I stared at him.

"It's our anniversary."

He glanced at the clock.

Then he sighed.

"Oh."

Just one word.

I felt something inside me crack.

"I prepared dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

"I made your favorite."

"Anya, I'm tired."

"I waited for you."

He rubbed his forehead.

"I said I'm tired."

I swallowed.

"I called you."

"I was busy."

"Until ten o'clock?"

He looked at me.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then his expression hardened.

"Can we not do this tonight?"

"Do what?"

"Argue."

"I'm not arguing."

"Then stop asking questions."

His words were quiet.

But they hurt more than shouting would have.

I stepped aside.

He walked past me without another word.

I watched him head toward the staircase.

"Jasper."

He stopped.

I wanted to ask why our anniversary meant so little to him.

I wanted to ask if he still loved me.

Instead, I said the only thing I could manage.

"Good night."

He didn't turn around.

"Good night."

Then he disappeared upstairs.

I stood alone in the living room.

The house suddenly felt enormous.

And cold.

I looked at the dining table again.

Three years.

Three years of marriage.

Three years of trying to make our home happy.

Three years of loving a man who had never quite learned how to love me back.

I had known from the beginning that Jasper had once loved someone else.

My sister.

Lyka.

Everyone knew.

Before Jasper and I were together, he and Lyka had been inseparable.

They had dated for nearly two years.

They were supposed to get married.

Until everything fell apart.

Lyka ended the relationship.

At least, that was what she told everyone.

She said she had fallen out of love.

She said Jasper deserved someone better.

Someone who could give him the stability he wanted.

Someone who wouldn't keep hurting him.

And I believed her.

I was the younger sister who had always admired Lyka.

She was beautiful, confident, successful, and effortlessly charming.

I was the quieter one.

The one who stayed in the background.

The one who loved deeply but rarely said what she wanted.

When Jasper was heartbroken after Lyka left him, I became his friend.

Then his comfort.

Then, eventually, his wife.

I knew what people whispered.

Anya married her sister's ex.

Jasper only married Anya because Lyka didn't want him.

He'll never love Anya the way he loved Lyka.

I heard all of it.

But I ignored them.

Because Jasper married me.

He stood beside me at the altar.

He promised to love me.

And when I looked into his eyes that day, I wanted to believe that the past was finally dead.

Maybe I was wrong.

I walked into the kitchen and began washing the dishes.

The water was warm against my hands.

My tears were warmer.

I quickly wiped my face with my shoulder.

I hated crying over Jasper.

I hated that some part of me was still waiting for him to come downstairs and say,

"I'm sorry, Anya. I forgot. Happy anniversary."

But he didn't.

Ten minutes passed.

Then twenty.

Nothing.

I dried my hands and picked up my phone.

Maybe I should go upstairs.

Maybe I should demand an explanation.

Maybe—

My phone vibrated.

I frowned.

The number wasn't saved.

I opened the message.

You deserve to know where your husband really was tonight.

My heart skipped.

I stared at the words.

Then another message appeared.

A photograph.

I opened it.

My breathing stopped.

Jasper stood outside an expensive restaurant.

I recognized the place immediately.

It was one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city.

But that wasn't what made my hands shake.

It was the woman standing beside him.

Her long dark hair fell over one shoulder.

She wore a cream-colored dress.

Jasper's hand was resting on her waist.

And she was smiling at him.

I knew that smile.

I had seen it my entire life.

It belonged to my sister.

Lyka.

My fingers went numb.

"No."

I zoomed in on the photograph.

Maybe it wasn't them.

Maybe someone had edited it.

Maybe there was an explanation.

But there was no mistake.

It was Jasper.

And Lyka.

Together.

On our anniversary.

I stared at the picture until my eyes began to burn.

Another message appeared.

They're not just meeting. They've been seeing each other for months.

My heart pounded.

Months?

No.

That couldn't be true.

I typed a response.

Who are you?

Before I could send it, another message arrived.

Ask Jasper what happened between them tonight.

Then another photograph appeared.

This one was taken through the restaurant window.

Jasper and Lyka were sitting across from each other.

His hand was on the table.

Her hand was covering his.

They weren't arguing.

They weren't discussing something serious.

They looked comfortable.

Like two people who belonged together.

Like a couple.

My vision blurred.

I pressed my hand against my mouth to keep myself from making a sound.

Then I heard footsteps upstairs.

Jasper.

I quickly locked my phone.

I didn't want him to know I had seen the pictures.

Not yet.

He came down the stairs a moment later.

He had changed into a plain shirt and sweatpants.

His expression was calmer now.

He looked at me.

"Why are you still awake?"

I forced myself to smile.

"I was cleaning up."

He glanced toward the kitchen.

"You didn't have to."

"I know."

There was an awkward silence.

Then his eyes moved toward the dining table.

The cake was still there.

The candles had melted into little pools of wax.

His expression changed slightly.

"I'm sorry."

I looked at him.

"For what?"

"Our anniversary."

My heart twisted.

At least he remembered.

"Did you remember earlier?"

He didn't answer immediately.

"Of course."

I almost laughed.

"Then why didn't you come home?"

His jaw tightened.

"I told you. I was busy."

"Where were you?"

His eyes met mine.

For one terrifying second, I thought he knew.

Then he looked away.

"At a business dinner."

A lie.

I knew it was a lie.

But I didn't confront him.

Not yet.

"Okay," I whispered.

He nodded.

"I'm going to bed."

"Jasper."

He stopped.

I stared at the man I had loved for three years.

The man I had defended against everyone.

The man whose happiness I had placed above my own.

"I have something to tell you."

He turned around.

"What?"

My heart pounded.

I almost told him.

I'm pregnant.

But then I remembered the photograph.

His hand around my sister's waist.

Her hand over his.

Months.

They had been seeing each other for months.

I couldn't tell him.

Not tonight.

Not while I was still trying to understand how my entire marriage had become a lie.

"Nothing," I said.

His eyebrows drew together.

"Are you sure?"

I nodded.

"Good night."

He walked upstairs.

I waited until I heard our bedroom door close.

Then I rushed to the bathroom.

I opened the drawer beneath the sink.

Inside was a small white box.

I picked it up with trembling hands.

The pregnancy test was still there.

Two pink lines.

I had taken it that morning.

I had stared at those two lines for nearly ten minutes.

I had cried.

Not because I was afraid.

Because I was happy.

I had imagined telling Jasper over dinner.

I had imagined his shocked expression.

Then I imagined him holding me.

I imagined him kissing my forehead.

I imagined us becoming a family.

I had spent the entire day believing I was about to give my husband the best news of his life.

Instead, I had discovered the worst truth of mine.

I slowly placed my hand over my stomach.

"I'll protect you," I whispered.

A tear fell onto the test.

"I promise."

My phone vibrated again.

I looked at the screen.

Another message from the unknown number.

This time, there was no photograph.

Only words.

Anya, you don't know the real reason Lyka left Jasper three years ago.

I froze.

Then another message appeared.

And if I were you, I would ask your sister who the baby's real father is.

My blood ran cold.

I stared at the screen.

My hand instinctively moved to my stomach.

The baby.

My baby.

What did Lyka have to do with my pregnancy?

I heard the bedroom door open upstairs.

Jasper called my name.

"Anya?"

I quickly wiped my tears and slipped the phone into my pocket.

But my hands wouldn't stop shaking.

For the first time in three years, I realized something terrifying.

Maybe Jasper wasn't the only person who had been lying to me.

And maybe the woman I had trusted most in the world...

was the person who had been destroying my marriage all along.