My Husband Fell For My 20-Year-Old Self

On my thirty-fifth birthday, a girl crashed into my living room. She rocked bright pink hair and heavy smoky eyeliner.

It was me at twenty. Bold, arrogant, and radiating a wild energy that absolutely refused to be tamed.

My heart skipped a beat. Terrified she would scare my supposedly straight-laced husband, I immediately ordered this rebellious kid to get the hell out.

But his eyes were completely glued to her. Like a man possessed, he became instantly infatuated with my younger self right then and there.

It was a bitter irony. I had spent the last seven years playing the perfect housewife for him. I quit smoking, stopped drinking, and erased every single one of my bad habits just to be a good partner and mother.

The former serial dater had completely retired her playbook. I genuinely thought I had found a man I could trust for the rest of my life.

And the result? After that birthday party, he stopped coming home at night. He spent every waking hour hitting up dive bars and clubs with the twenty-year-old me.

When I couldn't take it anymore and told him to keep his distance, he actually laughed in my face. "Are you seriously jealous of yourself?"

He even tried to justify his behavior. "Even if something happens between us, you're the one I truly love in my heart. What is there to worry about?"

Wow. Men really were all the same.

He would probably never realize one simple truth. The twenty-year-old me wouldn't be caught dead settling for a guy like him.

...

The clock in the living room ticked away.

The hands pointed straight to one in the morning. I sat on the sofa, locked in a silent standoff with my husband who had just come home.

Simon broke the silence first. "Isn't the twenty-year-old Stella also you?"

"I'm going to her gigs to support her because I love you."

"Stella, I really don't get it. Why are you eating yourself alive with jealousy over your own past? Is it really necessary?"

Simon adjusted his rimless glasses, looking every bit the refined, respectable university professor he always claimed to be.

Except for the half-smeared red lipstick print sitting right on his shirt collar.

Supporting her... from that close?

My mind wandered.

Just a month ago, he was busy commissioning a custom oil portrait as a surprise for my thirty-fifth birthday.

A month later, he had completely tossed me aside, calling me unreasonable and paranoid.

And all of this happened because the twenty-year-old me fell out of the sky.

She had bright pink hair, bold red lips, and heavy smoky eyes. She was the absolute polar opposite of the gentle, submissive wife I had become.

She oozed rock and roll. The moment she opened her mouth, she mocked me for looking like a pathetic housewife.

I watched her cause absolute chaos at my birthday dinner.

I was terrified. A former maneater hanging up her boots to find a decent guy to marry was no easy feat.

I wasn't going to let this brat ruin my marriage, so I immediately told her to get out.

But Simon was surprisingly protective of her. "That's enough, Stella. Be mature."

"Even if you aren't that person anymore, you should gracefully embrace your past."

He sounded so incredibly righteous.

I actually thought I had married the right man. I was just about to sit him down and confess the wild, complicated truth of my past, but he was already completely mesmerized by her.

It turned out he was utterly captivated by that vibrant, unfiltered version of me.

For the past month, I watched it all happen right in front of my eyes.

My Mr. Perfect husband, who had never once been late for dinner, suddenly mastered the art of staying out all night, drinking, and clubbing.

Typical man.

I originally planned to make him the only man I would love for the next few decades. I swallowed my wild side, happily cooked his meals, and prepared to start a family with him.

But he didn't want that. He wanted to be just one of the dozen guys I flirted with back in my twenties.

Fine.

I would grant his wish.

There was a strand of bright pink hair tangled around one of Simon's buttons.

I reached out, plucked it off, and dropped it right into his palm. "Why would I be jealous?"

"From this second on, I'm done managing you. Do whatever you want."

He looked confused, assuming I was just throwing a petty tantrum. His expression grew colder. "At the end of the day, you're the one I want. You should be grateful for that."

I knew exactly what he was implying.

Since she was technically me, I was supposed to count my blessings that he wasn't out cheating with a complete stranger.

I wasn't going to play that game.

Simon walked upstairs. The bathroom door slammed shut.

I sat back on the sofa, crossing my legs, and pulled out my phone.

A few rings later, my old lawyer friend, who had harbored a massive crush on me for years, picked up immediately.

"Well, well, Stella. I've been waiting for this call."

"You want a divorce, right? Send me the asset spreadsheet. I'll draft the papers tonight."

I gave a faint smile and just said two words. "Thank you."

By eight o'clock the next morning, the divorce agreement was sitting perfectly in my inbox.

While I was reviewing the fine print of the divorce papers, Simon was standing right next to me, picking out clothes and styling his hair.

A deep V-neck shirt, a silver skull necklace, and his hair curled to look like some seasoned bad boy.

The whole reason I wanted to marry him in the first place was because he was a respectable academic. He had this untouchable, saintly aura, completely different from the sleazy players I used to date.

Who knew that when men finally let their true colors show, they were all exactly the same.

He thought he was radiating pure testosterone, but in reality...

"Stella, you should really take some notes from young Stella. Stop dressing so depressingly all the time."

Young Stella was what he called the twenty-year-old me.

She wore heavy makeup every single day. If her back wasn't exposed, her shoulders were, and her jeans were always ripped to shreds.

After getting married, I was terrified of embarrassing Simon in front of his colleagues. I didn't keep a single piece of my old wardrobe, swapping it all out for modest, knee-length skirts.

Now that his brain was completely fried by lust, he actually wanted me to put those ripped clothes back on.

Psycho.

I rolled my eyes and picked up my phone.

Without him noticing, I snapped a picture of him posing in the mirror and texted it to Bennett, my lawyer. "Find a way to squeeze him for more alimony. He is completely at fault."

Bennett replied with a thumbs up, telling me to gather more evidence.

No problem.

At nine o'clock that night, I walked into the dive bar young Stella practically lived at.

It was the exact same spot I loved hanging out at a decade ago.

Sure enough, Simon was there too.

The man I once thought had an ethereal, classy presence now just looked pathetic. His facial features were still handsome and refined, but his entire vibe was completely off.

He sat in a VIP booth, his eyes glued to young Stella the entire time.

Too bad she wasn't even giving him the time of day.

After all, a fossil in his thirties had absolutely zero competitive edge against the hot college guys swarming the place.

The bass from the speakers made my heart pound against my ribs. I really was getting too old for this.

"Hey! Listen to me!"

"What?!"

Even under the heavy makeup, those identical facial features still carried a trace of youth.

Young Stella held a beer bottle, screaming directly into my ear. "Why did you ever settle for him?!"

"Look how old he is, trying to rock a deep V-neck like a frat boy! It's hilarious!"

As she said that, young Stella finally tossed Simon a glance.

She raised her beer bottle, giving him a toast from across the room.

I watched his lips twitch as he tried to hide a massive, glowing smile.

What a pathetic loser. So embarrassing.

I cursed him in my head.

"Yeah, why the hell did I settle for him?!"

I couldn't figure it out anymore either. I grabbed young Stella's hand and downed half her beer in one go.

Seeing my reaction, she leaned in close, her voice dripping with disgust. "If he hadn't promised to fund my new band, I wouldn't even look in his direction."

Made perfect sense.

Simon wasn't even close to my type when I was twenty.

The only reason she was entertaining him this long had to be the band.

Even as a maneater, I had standards.

Back in my prime, I had plenty of guys chasing me, but nobody was allowed to get in the way of my music.

Even after I married Simon, whose traditional family hated the idea of a wife being in the public eye, I secretly kept writing songs. I never told him just to avoid the headache.

The hidden camera pinned to my chest blinked a tiny red light.

Young Stella caught on immediately and gave me a wicked smile. "Not bad."

"You got married, but at least your brain didn't completely rot."

Just then, Simon got up and walked over to us.

His Adam's apple bobbed.

In front of me, he was always the composed, gentle husband. But talking to young Stella, he acted like a nervous teenage boy.

"Looking good! The bad boy aesthetic suits you, old man!" The younger me beat him to the punch.

She was a master at playing the crowd. Tell them exactly what they want to hear.

She patted Simon's shoulder twice before heading backstage to prep. She was the resident singer for the late-night set.

Simon clearly ate up every second of her attention.

He stood frozen in place, taking a long moment to snap back to reality, seemingly savoring the lingering scent of her heavy perfume.

I wasn't jealous. I was just pure, violently disgusted.

Married for seven years, and he still had the nerve to act like a lovestruck puppy.

I let out a cold scoff, making absolutely no effort to hide the disgust on my face.

Simon finally realized I had been standing there the whole time.

His brow furrowed instantly. "What are you doing here?"

"If you're still upset about the Stella... I mean, the young Stella situation, I don't think we have anything to talk about."

He slipped right back into his righteous, academic persona.

It was as if we were debating a philosophical thesis.

I used to adore that serious, intellectual side of him. Now, every single thing he did just made my skin crawl.

Even arguing with him felt like a massive waste of oxygen.

But we had been married for seven years. I gave him one final piece of friendly advice.

"Don't fall too deep."

"This girl is way out of your league. A pretentious academic like you will get eaten alive."

I crossed my arms, watching the wild, untamed girl owning the stage.

It was true, when the younger me sang, it was impossible to look away.

Simon just scoffed coldly. "Give it a rest."

"I know what this is. You're just jealous of her."

I turned my head, genuinely confused.

What met my gaze was a pair of ice-cold eyes.

"You're jealous that she's vibrant and alive! You're jealous that she has more charm in her pinky finger than you do!"

He looked me up and down.

A casual blouse, mom jeans, canvas sneakers, and my hair tied back in a messy bun.

"Unlike you. You're dull, boring, and completely lifeless!"

"Instead of being jealous, you should really take some notes from her!"

With that, he refused to look at me again. He even took a few steps away from me.

As if standing next to a housewife was beneath him.

In that split second, the manners and class of the man I once loved completely evaporated into thin air.

My heart turned to absolute ice. Even the last shred of pity I had for him died on the spot.

"Fine," I replied calmly. "Then go to her. I won't stop you."

I waved my hand, pointing straight at the stage.

He froze, hesitating for a moment. "Are you really... not going to hold this against me?"

"Did you genuinely accept her, or are you just trying to trick me?"

Deep down, he knew exactly how deranged this whole thing was. He desperately needed me to validate his twisted logic so he wouldn't feel guilty, so he wouldn't violate his own high moral standards.

I didn't say another word. I just gestured for him to go.

It was as if a chain had been broken. Simon practically sprinted toward the stage, catching young Stella as she finished her set and pulling her into a tight hug. "That was incredible, Stella!"

"I'll fund everything. Let me help you build your dream band, okay?!"

He looked as sincere as the day we got married.

"You are so amazing, Stella!"

"Marrying you was the greatest honor of my life!"

Without missing a beat, I aimed my lens right at his face and hit the shutter.

Click. Click.

A few hours later, every single one of those photos was sitting in Bennett's inbox.

He sent back a voice memo trying to comfort me. I didn't even have the patience to listen to the whole thing.

I just chose the wrong man and ended up in a failed marriage.

Make a mistake, fix it, and move on. It wasn't the end of the world.

The only thing I cared about now was making sure the final settlement tipped heavily in my favor.

After that night, Simon started contacting young Stella relentlessly.

Scouting venues, meeting investors, he was always there.

Writing tracks, rehearsing, picking out stage outfits, he was there for all of it.

He made absolutely no effort to hide his obsession.

We were literally the exact same person, but whenever he talked about the twenty-year-old Stella, his eyes dripped with sickening sweetness.

On the rare occasions he actually came home, he only looked at me with flat indifference and annoyance.

And me?

I watched him sink deeper and deeper into the quicksand, and I didn't utter a single word of warning.

He genuinely believed I had bought into his "you're both the same person" delusion.

He stopped making excuses entirely, slipping into her life as if it was his absolute right.

Meanwhile, I used all my free time to dive deep into our marital assets.

The deeper I dug, the more shocked I was. Simon's academic research was highly successful. The royalties from the books he published over the last few years had easily crossed the million-dollar mark.

He had more than enough cash to bankroll a rock band.

A few days before the band's premiere showcase, he completely stopped pretending.

He handed me a VIP pass and ordered the thirty-five-year-old me to be there.

I only realized his true intentions after I arrived.

He was actually shameless enough to plan a massive, public romantic confession to the twenty-year-old Stella right after the curtain closed.

Simon was dressed in a tailored suit, looking as if this concert was his second wedding.

"Stella, I really hope I have your blessing today."

"I have to admit, right now, my heart only has room for the twenty-year-old Stella. There is no space left for anyone else."

"But don't worry, I won't divorce you. After all, you and her are the same person. You're both my wife."

He stood at the very front of the VIP section, his eyes locked on the girl rehearsing on stage. He didn't even look at me when he spoke.

I let out a soft laugh. "Is that so."

"Well, I highly suggest you check your email first."

Sitting right in his inbox was the finalized divorce agreement.

He wanted to have his cake and eat it too? Over my dead body.

But he clearly couldn't care less. "We'll talk about it after the show."

"I am not letting anything ruin this night."

Was it the show he was worried about, or his grand confession?

I nodded, deciding to keep my mouth shut.

Because right at that exact moment, if my memory served me right, the twenty-year-old me was busy making intense eye contact with the bassist.

That was just the reality of being a player.

If you wanted to claim her officially, you had to get in line.

As for Simon...

I stood calmly beside him, waiting for the show to start.

The amps blasted, the stage lights flared, and the crowd surged forward.

The final chord rang out into the stadium.

Every single person in the room screamed for the musical prodigy on stage.

Suddenly, a strange feeling blossomed in my chest.

A wave of inexplicable satisfaction and immense pride washed over me.

In that specific moment, I finally felt the absolute truth that we were the exact same person.

The twenty-year-old me was Stella.

The thirty-five-year-old me was Stella.

The sheer impact of that massive achievement would echo through my life forever.

Seeing the show end in total triumph, Simon jumped up in pure ecstasy.

He pushed his way through the screaming crowd, shouting Stella's name at the top of his lungs.

But the very next second, everything stopped.

The ecstatic girl on stage grabbed the handsome bassist by the collar and kissed him passionately in front of everyone.

I crossed my arms, a massive smile spreading across my face as I watched them make out.

One second. Five seconds. Ten seconds.

Every drop of color drained from Simon's face.

He was shaking from head to toe, staring at the stage in absolute disbelief.

Then, he slowly turned his head to look at me.

I gave him a cold, mocking smirk, waving the digital divorce papers on my phone screen right in his face.

"What are you looking at?"

"She doesn't want you, and neither do I."