The State-Assigned Husband Chapter 02

The State-Assigned Husband Chapter 02

The next morning, Liam left early as usual.

I stood by the door for a long time, listening until his footsteps faded down the hall.

Then, I went to the drawer and opened it.

Inside, the bright red marriage license lay, looking as pristine as the day it had appeared six years ago.

I slipped it into my bag and headed out.

The Civil Registry hall was quiet. I handed the license to the clerk at the window. She flipped through it, checked her computer, then looked up with a strange expression.

“Ms. Moore, there’s no record of your marriage in our system.”

“What do you mean?” My voice tightened. “I have a license.”

“It’s a fake.”

“That’s impossible,” I insisted, pointing. “It has the official seal right here.”

She turned the license over and pointed to the stamp. “Look closely. The font is wrong. This is clearly forged.”

I stared at the seal for three seconds.

Something inside me collapsed.

“But…” My voice shook. “I am married. I’ve lived with him for six years. Could the system just not have updated?”

The clerk offered a thin smile, not unkind, just weary. The smile of someone who’d seen this story play out too many times. “Ms. Moore, our digital records go back fifty years. If there’s no record, there was no marriage. It’s that simple.”

Doesn’t exist.

The words hit me like ice water drenching my whole body.

My eyes stung immediately.

“So what do I…?” I choked up. “What do I do now?”

“Don’t cry.” She handed me a tissue. “The system has already assigned you a spouse. Contact them to register, and you’ll avoid the fine.”

“What’s his name?”

She typed a few keys, her eyes on the screen. “Ethan Carter. Local resident. Thirty-four years old.”

Ethan Carter.

The man I’d dismissed as a scammer.

The business card I’d thrown in the trash.

I walked out of the registry, sunlight burning my eyes. I crumpled the fake license in my hand.

I sat down on the curb.

People passed by, no one sparing me a glance.

I cried for a long time.

Six years ago, Liam had said he didn’t want a big wedding.

A simple license was enough, he’d said.

What mattered was us being together. I’d believed him.

I’d given him all my documents—my ID, everything. He’d said he’d take care of everything.

Later he brought home that red license. I looked it over again and again, smiling, saying we were finally legal.

Six years.

Six years of making him breakfast every morning, waiting up for him at night. When he said he was working late, I sat alone until midnight. He said he’d send me his pay, depositing a fixed sum into my account each month. I thought it was all he earned, and budgeted every penny carefully.

I thought we were husband and wife.

In the end, I didn’t even have a legal marriage.

Night fell.

I stumbled home.

The lights were on when I opened the door. Liam stood in the kitchen, wearing an apron, flipping food in a pan, steam curling up. Four dishes already sat on the table.

He glanced over at the sound of the door, a smile spreading across his face. “Hey, you’re back. I left work early. Made all your favorites.”

I stood in the entryway, staring at him.

The soft light framed him gently. He looked like the perfect husband.

“What are you waiting for? Come sit.” He carried over the last dish. “Let’s have a drink. I’ve been working so much lately, haven’t gotten to spend time with you.”

I washed my hands and sat down.

On the table: braised pork, sautéed greens, steamed fish—all my favorites.

He poured two glasses of wine and handed me one.

“Cheers, honey.”

I drank it all in one gulp.

“Easy, eat something first.” He placed a piece of pork in my bowl, his eyes full of concern.

I stared at him.

For six years, he’d looked at me like this every single day.

If even that was fake, what in this world was real?

“Where did you go today?” he asked suddenly. “You seem off.”

He reached to touch my forehead.

I turned my head away.

I pulled the crumpled license out of my pocket and set it on the table.

Liam’s hand froze mid-air.

The second he recognized it, panic flashed in his eyes—exactly like the night before.

“I went to the Civil Registry today.”

“What… what for?” His voice went dry.

“I told you last night. They’re pushing me to get married.”

“That’s a scam, honey, don’t fall for it—”

“Liam.”

I used his full name.

He fell silent.

I looked up at him, my voice low and clear, each word measured. “The woman at the registry told me this license is a forgery. According to the national database, I am not, and have never been, married to you.”

Liam’s face went completely pale.