My Husband Doesn’t Love Me

In the eyes of outsiders, we are a match made in heaven, in perfect harmony and well-suited, with compatible backgrounds and abundant assets, the envy of everyone, like a fairy-tale couple. But only I know that he has never forgotten his ex-girlfriend. The reason he married me is simply because my personality is identical to hers. I truly love him, so even though I know everything, I have willingly lived with him as a substitute. But one day, I suddenly regretted it. Humbly imitating someone else for a long time can be exhausting. When a person truly feels tired, even when facing someone who used to make her heart race at every meeting, she may feel nothing inside. I looked at his handsome and gentle smile, but I could no longer muster the energy to pander to his likes and play another person. I chose to avoid his gaze, yet as usual, I neatly ironed his suit and laid out the matching tie next to it. "Are you going out?" As I was changing my shoes, he finally put down his sandwich and newspaper, and looked up at me. I nodded, silently draped my coat over my arm, and opened the door to leave. "Not eating—" His voice was cut off by the door. When the "click" of the lock sounded behind me, I felt an inexplicable sense of relief. He should be surprised, after all, I used to smile and watch him swallow the last sip of milk and bread, then clean up the dishes while reminding him to drive carefully, and only after he left would I hurriedly get ready for work. He likes demure and thoughtful girls, just like his ex-girlfriend Eleanor. Before I got together with Oliver, I knew he had an unforgettable first love ex-girlfriend. To what extent was she unforgettable? Everyone knew that Oliver didn't date anyone for three years in college while pursuing Eleanor. On the day they got together, he booked a restaurant to treat all his classmates and then ran alone to the playground in the middle of the night, drinking and shouting "I love you" ten thousand times. Eleanor was certainly worth it, with her delicate features, gentle as water, and a figure good enough to win the school model competition. After they got together, Eleanor often posted the gifts Oliver gave her on social media: designer bags, watches, high-end cosmetics, hard-to-get concert tickets... and even meals cooked by the young master personally, who had never touched housework. Unfortunately, they apparently broke up in less than three months. This enviable relationship ended with Eleanor going abroad. After going abroad, Eleanor quickly found a new boyfriend, while Oliver took a while to bounce back. It was during this time that I had the opportunity to meet him through a contest, and our relationship developed from there. Oliver's good friend, Chen Hang, told me that when Oliver first saw me, it was different from how he looked at other girls. His eyes were glued to me, and we had such a great connection, there was definitely something special. But only I knew that the reason he looked at me that way was because I was wearing a dress from Eleanor's favorite clothing store, and I had the same habit as Eleanor, preferring a side-parted hairstyle with a white bow hairpin on the left. Our seemingly great conversations were just because I was deliberately imitating Eleanor's tone and manner of speaking—always looking at him eagerly, listening with a smile, speaking slowly and clearly, enunciating every word. To get closer to the boy I liked, I was willing to imitate the girl he loved most. It was undoubtedly a humiliating and sad thing, but I didn't care because the name Oliver was one I had liked for six years since high school, a name that made my heart race and my cheeks flush, a name that filled countless pages of my diary with secrets and thoughts. In high school, we weren't in the same class, and in college, we weren't in the same department. But that didn't stop my endless love for him after falling in love at first sight. To make him look at me even once, I could endure any humiliation. Fortunately, I succeeded. I soon became his second girlfriend and, almost unbelievably, ended up walking down the aisle with him. Looking back now, this relationship was unequal from the start. For so many years, I wore a mask called "Eleanor," humbly pleasing and accommodating him, only to receive his polite respect and care in return. He didn't have bad habits like smoking or drinking, nor did he stay out late or not come home. Everyone envied me for having a husband who was both family-oriented and capable of earning money, but is this really what I wanted? My eyes were full of him, but when he looked at me, who did he see? Everyone had witnessed Oliver's passionate love for Eleanor, but with me, his feelings suddenly turned as bland as a glass of lukewarm water. On holidays, there were only the usual gifts to express his intentions, and our daily conversations were pitifully few, with the house always filled with a quiet atmosphere. Even when we got married, we silently agreed not to announce it on social media. People are never satisfied. Before, I thought it was enough to be with him forever, but now I don't think so. I no longer want to play the role of the giver in a relationship, and I also long for true love. That day, I didn't touch my phone from morning until night. It wasn't until nine in the evening that I finally checked my phone and saw a few missed calls and two concise WeChat messages. [Not coming back for lunch?] [Not coming back tonight either?] I thought for a moment, replied with a few words, and as I walked downstairs from the office, I saw a slender figure standing in the distance, braving the wind, holding a woman's coat and scarf, his face slightly red from the cold. I was taken aback for a moment. Seeing me, Oliver walked over in a few steps, his voice still as gentle and polite as before, but perhaps due to the cold, there was a slight tremor in it. "I was afraid you might be upset if I entered your room without permission, so I went to your favorite store to buy these clothes. Why don't you try them on and see if they fit?" "Thank you." In the biting wind of the winter night, such polite and distant conversation seemed inappropriate for a couple married for years. The clothes fit well and still carried the warmth of his arms. In the past, I would have been moved to tears, but this time I simply put them on naturally and reached for the scarf. Oliver, lost in thought, stared at me with his dark eyes unblinking. I tugged slightly, and he came back to his senses, fumbling to help me tie it. I heard his breath catch for a moment. Under the pale moonlight, his eyes sparkled like scattered stars. "How long have you been here?" I broke the silence on the way back, catching a faint scent of alcohol on him, and frowned, "Have you been drinking?" He replied softly, his voice a bit hoarse, "Not long, I was just worried when you didn't reply to my messages, but I was also afraid..." His words were cut off by a sports car speeding past. Instinctively, he pulled me behind him with one hand. After the car passed, he didn't let go of my hand. Standing in his shadow, I heard his voice, somewhat low. "Do you not like this home anymore?" Men are indeed sensitive beings. They understand all your little thoughts and emotions. They don't speak because they choose not to speak. They are confident that you will swallow all grievances and stay by their side. Only when they feel things are slipping out of their control do they start to panic, fearing that what was once theirs will no longer remain. "You're overthinking. I was just busy with work today." I smiled, dismissing his concern. At least for now, due to the relationship between our families, I don't want a divorce. Oliver turned to look at me, his gaze momentarily dim. "No matter how busy, you must take care of yourself. Have you eaten?" "No, I was too busy to bother." I said, planning to make myself a bowl of noodles when I got back. But in the next second, as if performing a magic trick, he pulled out a steaming bag of braised ribs from his coat. "Here, your favorite." A smile finally appeared on his face, childishly offering it to me. I took it, stunned, as the aroma of the fried ribs gently stirred my senses, making my eyes slightly red. It reminded me of a day many years ago when he stood like this under the cherry blossom tree outside the girls' dormitory, craning his neck to look for a certain figure. Oliver was naturally tall and handsome, and at that time, there weren't many people outside the school. A few girls were whispering and shyly pointing at him. I had just finished discussing class meeting matters with our class president, George, who was walking me back. When I saw Oliver from afar, I found myself rooted to the spot. I knew he wasn't there for me, which filled me with a bitter sense of disappointment. I pretended not to see him, bid farewell to George, and continued walking. After a few steps, a voice called out from behind. I turned around to see Oliver's strikingly refined face backlit by the sun. "Hey, classmate." He swallowed nervously, breathing heavily, "Um, I have something I want to give to Eleanor. I think I've seen you walking together, so you must know her..." He stammered nervously, finally raising his eyes to look at me sincerely, "I bought two portions of these bridgehead ribs. Could you give one to her and keep the other for yourself? Thank you so much!" He finished speaking in one breath and hurriedly turned to leave. I watched him walk away and couldn't help but smile wryly. That night, I gave both portions of the ribs to Eleanor. Perhaps because I helped him without expecting anything back, the next time we met was at the school's bakery. I was picking up some bread when another pair of tongs landed on the same piece. I looked up to see it was Oliver. He seemed just as surprised and awkwardly withdrew his hand, nodding to let me have it, then moved to another section. My roommate excitedly exclaimed, "Wow, that handsome guy might like you. I saw him looking at you the whole time!" Her voice was loud enough for Oliver to hear. To avoid embarrassment, I firmly stated that we were strangers, "We don't know each other, okay? He's just a nice guy, being polite to a girl." After I said that, Oliver seemed to glance over. When I sat down to eat after paying, the server gave me an extra piece of matcha cake, saying it was from table four, as a thank you for helping him. The cake was sweet, with a hint of matcha's bitterness. I ate it slowly, feeling a complex mix of emotions. I might have to thank Eleanor for her deep feelings for George. On the day she broke up with Oliver, I hid in a corner of the bar, watching Eleanor's lips move furiously as she yelled at Oliver. He sat dejectedly in a chair like a wounded cat, unmoved by anything she said, like a statue, devoid of any emotion.