The Wife He Forgot to Love Chapter 01

The Wife He Forgot to Love Chapter 01

My husband’s high school classmate’s game was starting that afternoon, but her tactical analyst came down with a sudden illness right before.

In the middle of all the chaos, my husband stepped up and said he used to be a men’s soccer striker.

The game went on without a hitch, and no one thought it was just a one-time save.

I watched as my husband’s childhood sweetheart grabbed his hands excitedly.

And my husband looked at her with nothing but tenderness in his eyes.

The sight in front of me made me uncomfortable, so I deflected. “I had no idea Ethan even played soccer, and at such a high level.”

Nearby, my husband’s assistant looked stunned. “You didn’t know, ma’am? Mr.

Hartwell was on the school soccer team all through middle school and high school, training with Ms. Bloom every single day.”

“Mr. Hartwell even won a championship.”

“And I heard the reason Mr. Hartwell fell out with his family was because they didn’t want Ms. Bloom leading him into such injury-prone sports.”

“Now, every time Ms. Bloom has a match, Mr. Hartwell helps her analyze tactics and comes to every single game.”

I stood there frozen.

The people around me took one look at my face and didn’t dare continue.

I was left standing there, awkward and not knowing what to do with myself.

Joining the soccer team, rebelling against his family for her, watching every single game for her.

In just a few short sentences, they pieced together an Ethan Hartwell I didn’t recognize at all.

I’d known Ethan for five years, been married to him for two, and he’d never told me any of this.

To me, and to the world, he’d always shown nothing but a calm, restrained facade.

The Mr. Hartwell who strategized in the boardroom.

He’d buy me thoughtful gifts, remember my likes and dislikes, send me a text when he was out late for business dinners—doing his duty as a husband.

But whenever family came up, his face would cloud over.

I figured everyone had things they didn’t want to talk about, so I was considerate and didn’t pry.

The applause and cheers from the crowd shook the stadium.

During the break, Vivian and Ethan exchanged a smile, the lights catching them both. Anyone looking would’ve said, what a perfect pair—two lovers with the same goal.

I stood at the edge of the crowd, like a complete stranger.

The ride home was heavy with silence.

“I can’t believe that accident happened. I hope the tactical analyst is okay.

Thank goodness you were there today, someone who could step in,” I said softly.

He frowned, his voice low. “Nothing we can do. Nobody wants an accident.”

“At least nothing major happened. This was Viv’s most important game of the season.”

Viv. Such an intimate nickname.

And he calls me Eve.

Ethan, every time you say that pet name, who are you really thinking of?

He’s not one to show emotion, and now he’s stone-cold over someone else’s business.

I remembered that before we left for the game, he’d spent nearly an hour in the walk-in closet, changing outfits over and over.

Back then, I thought the game must have some big business implications with a partner.

Now I see—he just had someone important to see.

“Ethan, I had no idea you could even play soccer.”

A few seconds later, he gave a distracted “mmhm,” his tone flat. “Ancient history. Nothing worth mentioning.”

Was it really not worth mentioning? Or just not worth mentioning to me?

After that night, I pretended nothing had happened.

Ethan kept his usual early-out, late-back schedule. I couldn’t help myself and went digging through his study.

I found a stack of handwritten sheet music.

The handwriting was wild and untamed, nothing like the meticulous way he signed documents.

I never asked him about it.

Then one night, his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

I’m a light sleeper, and it woke me up.

The screen clearly read: Viv.

Ethan got up and went to the balcony to take the call, his voice low, but I still caught it.

“Don’t panic. I’ll be right there.”

He came back in to get dressed, moving quietly.

I kept my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep.

It wasn’t until I heard the soft click of the front door that I opened my eyes and stared at the empty side of the bed.

The next day, his assistant dropped off some documents at the house and casually mentioned, “Mr.Hartwell went straight to Ms. Su’s soccer club this morning. She apparently hurt herself during warm-ups.”

I nodded and said nothing.

Nobody remembered that today was our wedding anniversary.

The assistant seemed to realize he’d slipped up and hurried off.

I opened my tablet and searched Vivian Bloom’s name.

The first post was her tweet from the early hours: “Huge thanks to the best Ethan ever, who was still helping me train at 3 AM ~”

The photo showed a night view of the field, with a man’s silhouette faintly reflected in the glass window.

I recognized that shirt. It was the birthday gift I’d given him last month.

The comments were buzzing.

“Is that the same Ethan, the men’s striker from back in the day? You two are teaming up again?!”

“Holy crap, tears in my eyes! My high school stadium power couple is back?!”

“You two were so perfect together back then… what a shame…”

I scrolled through comment after comment, slowly piecing together their history.