She’s Your Wife, Then What Am I?

When I got the news that my husband was having surgery, I braved a full-on hurricane—pouring rain, howling winds—and drove four hours straight back to the city.

By the time I made it to the hospital, Evan was lying in the hospital bed, groggy but loud, demanding, “Where’s my wife? Someone get my wife here!”

His friends, gathered around him, started teasing him, calling him whipped and saying how hopelessly in love he was with me.

Everyone always said he adored me to no end.

Blushing, I walked over with a shy smile, feeling a mix of relief and happiness. I gently took his hand and reassured him softly, “I’m here.”

But to my shock, Evan frowned, yanked his hand away, and looked at me like I was some stranger.

"Get lost!" he snapped, his voice filled with disdain. "You’re not my wife! My wife is Sofia!"

…

1

The once lively hospital room fell into an awkward silence after Evan’s outburst.

His group of buddies immediately looked uncomfortable, avoiding my gaze like guilty children caught in the act.

I scanned their faces, and it all became painfully clear: they knew about Sofia.

In that moment, I felt like a complete fool. The sweetness and shyness I’d shown just moments before—how pathetic and laughable it must have seemed to them.

One of them tried to stammer an explanation. “Um… don’t take it seriously, okay? Evan’s still out of it from the anesthesia. He’s just talking nonsense.”

The rest quickly chimed in:

“Yeah, everyone knows how much he loves you. He’s totally whipped—this has to be the drugs talking.”

“Exactly! Sofia’s just his secretary. She could never compare to you in his heart.”

But one of them nudged the speaker, signaling him to shut up.

I didn’t say a word. I just stood there, numb. My feet, soaked from standing in rainwater for over four hours, felt cold and lifeless.

Meanwhile, Evan kept calling out, “Where’s my wife? Where’s my wife? Mason, call my wife! Hurry!”

His voice softened, tinged with a childlike sadness. “I want to hold her. Why doesn’t she care about me?”

I held his hand tightly and asked, “Evan, who am I?”

He blinked at me, his eyes unfocused, and after a long pause, he muttered three words: “The old hag.”

I forced a laugh, though tears blurred my vision.

So this was it. From high school sweethearts at seventeen to marriage at thirty, after just four years of being his wife, I’d already become “the old hag” in his eyes.

In the end, I took Evan’s phone and called Sofia.

She arrived quickly. The moment she entered, she ignored me entirely, rushing to Evan’s side like a heroine in a romance movie. Grabbing his hand, her eyes reddened with emotion as she cried, “Evan, I’m so sorry I’m late!”

Evan’s eyes lit up instantly, his face breaking into a wide smile. He pulled her into a hug and said, “You’re finally here, honey. I missed you so much.”

“Someone tried to pretend to be you earlier,” he added, glaring in my direction. “But I wasn’t stupid enough to fall for it. I told her to get lost!”

Sofia glanced at me smugly befor...