After My Husband Fell In Love with His First Love's Substitute

It'd been five years since Elliott Wellington and I got married.

He had picked up a woman from another era, Rachel Parker, and had been using work as a pretext to flirt with her.

I asked for a divorce.

He just sneered and mocked, "Megan, you're being overly sensitive.

"Just work, and you're jealous?"

Later, I broke my own rules and shot a steamy scene.

Elliott's eyes were bloodshot with anger as he gripped my waist tightly, demanding, "How dare you let him touch you?"

I pushed his hand away, smiling nonchalantly.

"It's just work. Don't take it so seriously."

1

I was a small-time actress with hardly any recognition.

Today was my birthday, and I had planned to wrap up filming early to surprise Elliott. Instead, I ended up injuring my arm with a prop knife.

I called Elliott, hoping he could comfort me, but as soon as I said, "Honey, I'm hurt…" the call was abruptly cut off.

Words caught in my throat as the line went dead. I hung up, feeling a wave of disappointment.

I told myself he must be busy and hoped he'd call back once he was free.

While I was in the hospital for observation, I distracted myself by scrolling through videos.

My heart sank when I recognized the people in one of the clips.

The video showed Elliott surrounded by a throng of reporters, all shouting questions.

One reporter asked, "Professor Wellington, it's been rumored that this woman by your side is a time traveler. Has there been any progress in your research on this?"

Elliott stopped in his tracks, his gaze sharply fixed on the questioner. "You're seriously peddling this nonsense about time travel? Have you all been reading too many sci-fi novels? Maybe you should brush up on some real science before spewing such absurdities."

The reporter was visibly flustered, at a loss for words.

Elliott's face remained stern.

"Rachel is my friend. If any of you continue to stalk and harass her, I won't hesitate to involve the authorities."

With that, he shielded Rachel and ushered her into a car, leaving the crowd stunned and silent.

The comments online were a mix of admiration and disbelief.

[Wow, so cool! They look perfect together; they must be a couple.]

[These reporters are ridiculous. To even suggest time travel is just brainless.]

[If she were really a time traveler, wouldn't Professor Wellington be eager to study her? He's a researcher himself—there's no way he'd hide something like that.]

I turned off my phone, a sharp pain stabbing in my chest.

It dawned on me why my calls had been ignored—he was too busy protecting another woman, someone who resembled his late first love.

I hadn't expected Elliott to go to such lengths, risking his career and integrity to protect Rachel simply because she looked like someone he had lost.

His willingness to do this for her, to mend a past regret, was more than I had imagined.

2

I'd been married to Elliott for five years.

Our relationship, while not characterized by the fiery passion of a romance novel, had been one of mutual respect and companionship.

I thought we'd continue on this steady path for the rest of our lives until two months ago when Elliott returned from a conference with a time traveler named Rachel.

Rachel was petite and delicate.

I first met her while bringing Elliott lunch.

Elliott, a notorious workaholic, often neglected his health, so I had prepared a special meal to ensure he ate properly.

As I passed through the lobby of the research institute, I overheard a conversation.

"Professor Wellington seems to be incredibly attentive to Rachel. I've never seen him speak so gently to a woman. Does he really intend to send her off to the lab for research?"

"Exactly, and even if it's to make her cooperate with the research on her time-travel origins, Rachel always gazes at him so adoringly. She only wants to stay by his side. It's hard to believe there's nothing more to it."

"I heard she looks exactly like his first love."

A chill ran down my spine, and I tightened my grip on the lunchbox.

I wanted to hear more, but another girl noticed me and nudged her friend. They both gave me awkward smiles and quickly said hello.

I pretended not to hear and turned away.

As I approached the office, I saw through the glass door a woman in a plain dress clinging to Elliott, her body language full of distress.

"Are they trying to lock me in that little room? I'm scared."

Elliott gently patted her back. "Don't worry. As long as I'm here, no one will hurt you."

"Really?"

The woman suddenly pulled away, tears welling in her eyes.

Elliott reached up and gently wiped away her tears, nodding reassuringly.

If I hadn't witnessed it myself, I would never have believed that someone as aloof as Elliott could be so tender with another woman.

My grip on the lunchbox faltered, and it dropped, spilling food everywhere with a clatter, shattering the tender scene.

Rachel, startled by my presence, darted behind Elliott like a frightened deer.

Elliott glanced at me, his expression cold as he kept Rachel shielded behind him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice lacking warmth.

The defensive posture made my eyes sting.

Before I could respond, a man from the lab emerged, saying, "Professor, everything is ready inside."

He then glanced at Rachel.

She paled, gripping Elliott tightly with a look of panic.

"No… please, you promised you'd protect me…"

Elliott's face softened with sympathy.

He looked at the man and said, "Let's put it off for today. She's not in the right state of mind."

The man's urgency was evident. "But we've prepared for so long..."

Under Elliott's icy glare, the man's protest faded, and he left with visible disappointment.

Elliott shot me a final glance.

"I've got things to handle. You should head home for now."

Without a word, he turned and scooped Rachel up in his arms, leaving me in stunned silence.

His eyes didn't even linger on me for a second as he walked away without a hint of remorse.

He strode out with purpose, carelessly stepping on the meticulously prepared lunch I had brought him, crushing it underfoot.

I felt my heart ache; all the effort I had put in that morning was suddenly in ruins.

That evening, when we returned home, Elliott explained himself with a calm demeanor, "It's just work-related. I'm looking out for her, that's all. Don't read too much into it."

Was it really just about work? A seed of doubt took root in my mind, but I kept my mouth shut.

3

Fortunately, the wound wasn't too deep. After it was stitched up, I took a cab home.

By the time Elliott arrived, the world outside was pitch black. He flipped the light switch, and the once-dark living room was instantly bathed in light.

His gaze fell on me as I was sitting on the sofa, and he paused in surprise.

"You're back already? Didn't you say your work wouldn't wrap up for a few more days?"

I studied his astonished expression. We hadn't seen each other for nearly two months while I was filming, but there was no hint of joy or relief in his eyes. He seemed to have forgotten it was my birthday.

After a moment of awkward silence, I finally replied, "There was an incident."

Elliott's face softened slightly as his eyes finally settled on my injured arm, and he frowned. "How did you manage to hurt yourself like this?"

I bit my lip and, after a pause, asked, "Why are you home so late today? I tried calling, but you didn't answer."

He maintained his usual expression.

"I was busy with work. It wasn't a good time to take calls."

I forced a smile, feeling a pang of frustration.

It seemed he either didn't know or didn't care that the news of the incident had spread online. Maybe he thought there was no need to explain.

After a brief silence, he glanced at my injury and said, almost as an afterthought, "I'll take you for a dressing change tomorrow."

With that, he headed into the bathroom to freshen up, leaving me alone in the quiet, suddenly distant home.

4

The next morning, after finishing his grooming routine, Elliott was already seated at the dining table, leisurely enjoying his breakfast.

He glanced up briefly as I walked in.

"Have some breakfast," he said.

I nodded quietly and took a seat across from him, picking up a spoon and starting on my meal.

Unlike before, I didn't try to make conversation; I simply ate in silence.

The only sounds in the room were the clinking of my spoon against the bowl, punctuating the silence.

I had the faintest feeling that Elliott's eyes were on me, but he didn't say a word.

After breakfast, as I was heading to the parking lot to get in the car, Elliott's phone rang.

The call wasn't muffled, and I could make out a distressed female voice on the other end.

"Elliott, please come quickly! Someone's following me, and I'm so scared."

Elliott's expression hardened immediately. "Don't worry, I'm on my way."

Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "I've got something urgent right now. You'll need to catch a cab yourself."

Without even glancing at me, he drove off.

I stood there, frozen, feeling as if I were in a deep freeze.

Once again, he had abandoned me for a woman who reminded him of a past love.

He had long forgotten that our suburban villa was not exactly on the taxi route.

I stood in the cold wind for what felt like ages, my legs going numb before I finally called my assistant to come and take me to the hospital.

5

After returning home from the hospital with my dressing changed, I received a message from my close friend.

[Megan, isn't this your husband? Who's the woman beside him?]

I clicked on the picture she sent.

It was a candid shot.

Elliott's gaze towards Rachel held a noticeable softness that was completely different from when he was with me.

If I weren't a part of this situation, I would have found the scene beautiful—a perfect match of talents and beauty.

But reality hit hard. He had left me today just to accompany a stand-in for his old flame, wandering around together.

My eyes instinctively drifted to the wedding photo hanging on the bedside. I was smiling brightly, like a blooming flower, while Elliott's smile seemed forced and unnatural.

6

Before we got married, I knew Elliott harbored the memory of a deceased former lover. On the anniversary of her death, he would visit her grave and talk to her, and he frequently visited her parents as well.

I didn't mind; in fact, I felt quite fortunate to be with someone who could remain so devoted, even in a fast-paced world, finding solace in comforting his late lover's parents.

I thought that as long as I worked hard and treated him well, he would eventually fall in love with me.

Now, as I looked back, it all seemed laughably naive.

How ironic.

After his old flame passed away, Elliott ended up with a woman who resembled her.

Meanwhile, I—the legitimate wife—had become nothing more than a joke.

Staring at the wedding photo on the wall, I found myself lost in thought. This marriage felt like it was always a one-sided effort on my part, a relentless push to give and give. It suddenly seemed rather pointless.

It was almost eleven before Elliott finally came home.

Seeing me on the couch, he looked surprised, though he quickly masked it.

"Why are you still up?" he asked casually, heading to the wardrobe to grab his pajamas before heading to the bathroom.

He didn't even attempt to explain the day's events.

I looked at him and slowly asked, "Where did you go today?"

His back stiffened. Turning around, he furrowed his brow and replied, "Just work stuff."

I nodded nonchalantly. "When you say 'work stuff,' does that include spending time with another woman?"

He frowned, unable to hide his irritation. "Don't overthink it. I told you, it's all for work."

I stared at him intently. "Is that really how you feel?"

His expression darkened.

"I'm tired. Don't make a scene."

Of course, he was tired—entertaining a stand-in for his past lover and then coming home to deal with a wife he didn't seem to care about.

I couldn't understand why, if he didn't like me from the start, he agreed to be with me.

Did he want to defy his family's opposition and marry someone they disliked as a sort of revenge for his own parents' objections to his first love?

Or perhaps, now that his beloved past lover was gone, marrying anyone seemed acceptable to him, and I was just a convenient option.

I didn't expect to find myself in this situation, with a new woman who looked like his old flame appearing out of nowhere.

"I'll be sleeping in the guest room tonight," he said, grabbing his pajamas and leaving the bedroom.

Elliott seemed to prefer silent treatment as a way to handle conflicts. Instead of talking things through, he chose to ignore me, leaving me to be the one to patch things up each time.

7

In the dead of night, I lay in bed wide awake, staring at the ceiling with my mind tangled in confusion.

Suddenly, a blinding flash of lightning cut through the darkness, followed by a deafening roar of thunder. The sheer terror made me pale, and I instinctively got out of bed to find Elliott, forgetting entirely about our current standoff. I just needed to find some comfort in him.

As I opened the bedroom door, I heard Elliott's anxious voice coming from the guest room.

"Don't be afraid. I'm coming over now."

Our eyes locked for a moment as the door swung open.

He seemed momentarily stunned but then spoke up, "I need to step out for a bit."

Outside, the wind howled, and trees swayed violently.

"In this thunderstorm, what could be so urgent?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

He looked increasingly worried.

"Rachel's not doing well. I need to check on her."

Without waiting for my response, he grabbed his car keys and hurried out the door.

He was so composed about it, casually saying he was going to check on his old flame's stand-in in the middle of the night, right in front of his wife.

"Can't you stay? I'm scared," I said, almost in a panic as I reached out and wrapped my arms around his waist, my voice barely a whisper.

He paused for a moment before gently pulling my hands away.

"Stop being so dramatic. You're an adult, not a child.

"I'm just going to check on her and come right back. Rachel's in a bad state, and if she gets upset, it could affect the progress of our work."

My hand hung in the air, my face drained of color as I stared at him.

"You're abandoning your wife in the middle of the night to comfort someone who looks like your ex? Is this really just about work, or are you using it as an excuse to satisfy your own desires?"

He froze, caught off guard, his expression darkening.

"What are you talking about? Stop making a fuss."

He shook off my hands and was about to leave when I, out of spite, shouted at his retreating back, "If you go, we're getting a divorce."