Green Card for Her, A Sham Marriage for Me

After we got married, James was recruited by an American university with a million-dollar annual salary.

I gave up everything to move to America with him.

But three years later, I still didn't even have a green card.

Meanwhile, that female assistant who came to America with us had already gotten her green card through James's connections.

I was so furious I wanted to fly back to Europe immediately.

James, usually so calm and composed, turned red and begged me to stay:

"You're my wife. I'll get your green card sorted out soon. Emma followed me all the way here from home to work in America. I'm her bossI have a responsibility to take care of her."

My heart softened, and I put down my suitcase.

Until one day, when I handed our marriage certificate to an official, they told me:

"Ma'am, our system shows you are not Mr. Mitchell's wife. Please go back and verify this."

I froze on the spot. Then, without a word, I booked the earliest flight back to Europe.

Back at home, I tried three times, but the fingerprint lock kept giving me the "verification failed" tone.

I called James.

"What's wrong?" He picked up quickly.

"Why can't I open the door?"

He was silent for two seconds, then said:

"Oh, I changed the lock. I only registered Emma's fingerprinthaven't gotten around to adding yours yet. Just find a hotel for tonight. I'm working late, won't be coming home."

He was telling me to stay at a hotel?

I wanted to argue, but in the end, I just said:

"Okay."

What else was there to say?

This was supposed to be our home, yet he'd registered the fingerprint of Emmaan outsider.

I hung up.

I checked into the budget hotel by our building's entrance.

$548 a night.

When I swiped my card, the balance was almost nothing.

When we first came to New York, James gave me a supplementary card with no spending limit.

Later, Emma started buying most of his things.

Clothes, watches, even that insulated mug on his office deskshe bought all of it.

Gradually, the supplementary card was transferred to her.

James started depositing $2,000 a month into my account for living expenses instead.

He said she was better at shopping than mebetter taste, knew how to coordinate things.

She said she was just doing her job as his assistant.

I couldn't really say anything more.

Until our third anniversary, when James and I were supposed to have a romantic evening alone.

Just as the mood was building, the doorbell rang.

James went to answer it.

Emma stood outside, slightly breathless, holding out a box of ultra-thin condoms.

"Professor Mitchell, it's your special day! I picked these up just for you!"

She glanced at me, smiling naturally. "You always say this brand feels the best. Aren't I thoughtful? Don't I deserve some praise?"

James took the box, letting out an awkward "mm."

She waved and left.

The door closed.

He walked back to the dining table with the box and set it casually beside him.

I stared at that box without saying a word.

I never knew which brand he preferred

Because we'd been trying to have a baby, so we basically never used protection.

That candlelit dinner felt like torture.

Finally, he said something came up at the university, grabbed his coat, and left.

The moment the door closed, it suddenly hit me

So an assistant's job could be this thorough.

That night, I dreamed of our first year in New York.

I came out of the airport dragging two huge suitcases.

James was waiting for me right at the exit.

Back then, he was still the man who felt so guilty that his eyes reddened when I gave up everything to be with him.

He was the man who would carry my luggage, who would let me lean on him when I was tired.

But then Emma came along.

James said she had left her hometown behind to follow him herehe had to help her out.

So he helped her get settled with residency.

Helped arrange her job.

I never expected that in the end, he'd even help her change the lock on our home

Early the next morning, I went to buy a ticket back to Europe.

Standing at the corner waiting for the light to turn green, my phone rang.

It was a friend from back home.

"Grace, that thing you asked me to look into"

She paused, her voice hesitant. "I pulled some strings, but I could only see registration records. Privacy laws are strict thereI couldn't get the detailed files."

"It's fine," I said. "Whatever you found is enough."

The other end went quiet for two seconds.

"James Mitchell's registered wife in New York her last name is Roberts."

I held my phone, silent.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I said. "Thank you."

I hung up. The light turned green.

The crowd surged past me, and another group stopped beside me.

I stood there, staring at the glass curtain wall of the building across the street. The sunlight stung my eyes until they burned.

So his real wife was her all along.

I stood on the sidewalk and suddenly laughed.

These three years, I'd been so exhausted trying to prove my worth, so determined not to be just a housewife, that I'd overlooked so many details in our daily life.

Like how every weekend he said there was something at the university, and he'd be gone the whole day.

When I asked what it was about, he'd always brush me off: "You wouldn't understand even if I told you."

Like that time he forgot some documents, and when I dropped them off at his faculty housing, I saw two toothbrushes on his bathroom counterone blue, one pink.

And I never thought deeper about it.

I pulled myself out of my thoughts and kept walking.

Across two streets, around three corners, until I stood at the ticket office entrance.

I waited in line, remembering how long the customs line had been when I first landed in New York three years ago.

Because I was about to see the man I loved, I was so foolishly happy that I didn't feel tired at all.

When James picked me up, he hugged me and spun me around.

Until a girl waved at him:

"Professor Mitchell! What a coincidenceGrace and I were on the same flight!"

It was Emma.

James smiled and took her suitcase, explaining to me:

"Forgot to mentionEmma's coming over to keep working as my assistant. It's not easy for a young woman to immigrate on her own."

Emma smiled sweetly. "Grace, I hope we can look after each other from now on."

My smile stiffened slightly, but I nodded politely.

On the drive, I quietly watched them chat.

When she talked, James would tilt his head to listen carefully.

When she pointed at clouds in the sky, he'd look where she was pointing.

That attention that used to belong only to me was now quietly being shared with her.

My heart felt a little sour.

But I was also happy for him.

After all, good assistants are hard to find. Having someone he knew and trusted come along would make his work at the university go more smoothly.

In those first few months in New York, I tried to find a job.

But my field was so niche that I couldn't find anything in my specialty.

Hundreds of resumeseither ignored completely or met with a "not considering at this time."

I'd always been a top student, everything going smoothly. I'd never tasted rejection before.

Those nights I couldn't sleep, tossing and turning, wonderingwas I just not good enough?

Finally, I had no choice but to ask James.

After dinner one evening, I sat down next to him.

Stammering, I said: "Um could you maybe ask around at the university?"

"Isn't there supposed to be a spouse quota? I was thinking, if there's a way to arrange a position"

I couldn't finish.

My whole life, I'd never asked anyone to pull strings for me.

Even though it was part of the talent recruitment policya benefit for spousessaying it out loud made my face burn.

Like I was doing something shameful.

"Mm," he said, head down, still flipping through his papers. "If you want to work, I'll ask around."

I felt a little relieved.

I waited three months.

When I asked again, he said he'd been busywe'd talk about it later.

But as far as I knew, Emma had started working at the university ages ago.

Administrative position, weekends off, great benefits.

James said it was through normal hiring.

I believed him.

Looking back now, her qualifications and experience were worse than mine.

She couldn't even speak English properly.

So why did my resume, submitted the same way, sink without a trace?

The answer had been right in front of me all along. I just didn't want to see it

The line moved forward a step.

My turn.

I handed over my passport.

The clerk typed a few keystrokes, then frowned.

"Ma'am, we can't issue you a ticket with this document."

"Why not?"

She turned the screen slightly toward me. "The system shows you've overstayed your permitted time in the US."

I froze. "Overstayed?"

"Your most recent extension application wasn't approved, right?" She glanced at me. "The system shows no valid stay permit for you."

I stood at the window, speechless.

Three years.

I'd been in New York for three years, and I didn't even have a valid stay permit?

"So what do I do now?"

"First, go to Immigration to process the paperwork. Pay the fine, get a departure permit, then you can buy a ticket." She pushed my passport back.

"Next."

I stepped aside to make room.

The person behind me pushed forward, quickly blocking the window.

I stood there, staring at the passport in my hand.

So I wasn't even legally allowed to be here.

Then what were these three years?

Outside the ticket office, I called the immigration consultant.

"Mrs. Mitchell, I wanted to askin my situation, why does my extension keep getting rejected? Now I need to pay a huge fine."

Mrs. Miller's voice was as warm as ever: "Mrs. Mitchell, that shouldn't be happening. Your husband is a university professor. Dependent extensions should be easy to approve. Did he complete all the sponsorship paperwork?"

"He did."

"Then it shouldn't be a problem" She paused. "Hold on, let me look into it."

The line went quiet for a moment.

When she spoke again, her voice was lower: "Mrs. Mitchell, if you don't mind me askingwhen your husband sponsored you, did he use the spousal reunification channel?"

I held the phone, silent.

"The system shows" She chose her words carefully. "The wife slot linked to your husband was approved for a Ms. Roberts."

"He also submitted sponsorship for you, but not under the spouse categoryit went through a different channel."

"But that channel was suspended about a year ago, which is why your applications keep getting rejected."

I paused. "I see. Thank you, Mrs. Miller."

I hung up.

Standing there, I remembered certain details.

Three years ago, right after arriving in New York, James said he'd handle my paperwork and took all my documents.

Later he said everything was done, so I never asked about it again.

So what I thought was following love across the world had actually turned into illegal overstaying

I stood by the road for a long time.

I went to every office I could.

In the end, I found there was only one solution

My original sponsor, James, needed to submit a statement.

Explaining that he failed to notify me in time about changes to the sponsorship channel, resulting in my unintentional overstay.

Then I could pay the fine, reapply for a short-term visitor visa, and legally leave the country.

Simple.

He just needed to sign his name.

But how could I ask him?

Say "Since you gave the wife slot to someone else, now sign this so I can leave"?

And if I did that, wouldn't we have to settle all the accounts from these three years too?

I went back to that so-called "home."

James still wasn't back. The door was still locked tight.

I didn't wait. I called a locksmith directly.

After getting everything sorted, I went to James's university.

When I arrived, I could hear voices coming from his office.

"Professor Mitchell, are you really letting me go for the University Arts Foundation residency program?"

It was Emma's voice, with a hint of coyness.

"But my qualifications aren't enough, are they? This would be more suited for Graceshe actually studied this field."

I stood at the door, motionless.

An Arts Foundation residency program?

James had never mentioned it to me.

I studied art history.

Back then, the program only admitted eight students nationwide, and I was one of them.

In my home country, graduates were highly sought after.

But after three years in New York, my resumes had vanished into the void.

I hadn't even been to a proper exhibition, let alone any residency program.

James couldn't arrange a job for me at the university through the spouse quota, but he'd never even thought to let me try for such a rare opportunity

"It's fine, I've already put in a good word for you."

James's voice was gentle. "As for GraceI'm taking care of her. She doesn't need these things."

"Besides, with your abilities, if you'd had the same opportunities she did back then, you wouldn't be any worse than her."

I stood outside the door and suddenly wanted to laugh.

So in his eyes, all my hard work was just "opportunities."

So the field I was so proud ofanyone could "be just as good."

The door opened. Emma walked out and saw me. She froze for a second.

"Grace?" She quickly smiled. "Are you here to see Professor Mitchell? But this floor doesn't allow unauthorized personnel. Maybe you should wait in the lobby downstairs?"

Love can make a person beautiful.

The woman before me was only a year younger than me, but she'd been so well-nourished by affection that her features were relaxed and confident.

I took a step forward. "Move."

She blocked the doorway. "Grace, really, you can'tProfessor Mitchell is busy"

I reached out to push past her.

She stepped back, and her whole body tumbled into the office.

"Ah"

James stood up from his chair and strode over.

He glanced at me.

That glance was cold.

Then he bent down to help her. "Are you hurt?"

Emma let him help her up, biting her lip and shaking her head. "I'm fine, I'm fine. I just lost my balance. It's not Grace's fault"

James looked at me, his tone reproachful:

"Emma was just doing her job. Why did you push her?"

I looked at him, then at Emma in his arms, her eyes red.

I didn't say much.

I got straight to the point: "The Immigration statement needs your signature."

His brow furrowed. "What statement?"

I handed over the papers.

He took them, scanned them briefly, and was already annoyed before finishing.

"You came all the way here and pushed someone over this? Grace, when did you become so unreasonable?"

"Either sign it," I said, looking him in the eye, "or I go to the dean right now and ask how a talent recruitment spouse slot ended up going to an assistant."

His face changed.

The next second, my wrist was gripped tight.

He held me. "Grace, that's enough!"

He lowered his voice, turning cold. "Don't forget who's been supporting you. Without me, you couldn't even stay in New York. You'd have nowhere to go."

"Don't make a scene here. Go home first."

I looked at him for two seconds, then suddenly smiled.

When he begged me to come to New York, he said, *I'll take care of you.*

Now he said, *I'm the one who's been taking care of you.*

"Sign now, and we can still end this with some dignity."

My voice was calm.

His gaze darkened. He let go of my wrist.

He called out, "Security."

Two uniformed men walked over.

He glanced at me. "Please escort my wife out. She's not feeling well."

Security approachedone grabbed my arm, the other blocked my path.

I tried to speak, but a hand was already covering my mouth, quick and practiced.

I was being marched out.

As I passed him, he leaned close to my ear and whispered, "We'll talk tonight, okay? Don't be stubborn."

Ha

Talk tonight?

There's nothing left to talk about.

By the time he finished up his work, it was already 9 PM.

James drove home.

Thinking about what happened during the day, he frowned slightly.

Those papershe hadn't even read them properly.

Some Immigration statementGrace stayed home all day. What did she need that for?

The lock had been changed, but the door was just pulled shut, not locked.

He paused.

Noticed the lights were on inside.

Figuring Grace was home, he frowned immediately. "Why didn't you lock the door?"

He pushed the door open, hung up his coat, then walked to the bedroom door.

"Alright, about the spouse quota" His tone was like he was being forced to explain. "I already told you before. Emma needed it more than you."

"She came to America with me. I had to take responsibility. Stop making a fuss."

He finished speaking and put his hand on the door handle.

Pushed it open.

And when he saw what was inside, his eyes went wide.