My Dead Husband Is Another’s Perfect Man

Ten years after my husband's death, I took my son to a youth science competition.

There, a group of people pointed at him, calling him a fatherless bastard.

Just as I was about to rush over, the man on the judging panel beat me to it. He scooped up the other woman's little girl in his arms.

Don't cry, Penny, he said softly. "Daddy's here."

I had listened to that exact voice for ten long years.

Everyone had told me he was dead. I had clung to a single black and white photograph, gave birth to his son, and dragged my failing body through nine years of poverty to raise our child alone.

But he was alive.

He had changed his name, become a respected professor, and married the heiress of a wealthy foundation.

When his eyes finally met mine, the trophy in his hand slipped and shattered on the polished floor.

I looked at him, forcing a quiet smile. "Professor Silas, do you know who I am?"

The main lobby of the exhibition hall was a chaotic storm of crying children and shouting parents.

By the time I pushed through the crowd, Peter was cornered in a dark alcove by two security guards. The sleeve of his school jacket was torn, and blood was slowly pooling on the back of his hand.

A little girl in a white dress sat on the floor nearby, sobbing as she clutched a shattered model bridge. The woman standing next to her looked on with a face of pure ice.

"Are you Peter's mother?" she demanded as I approached.

I ignored her, kneeling down in front of Peter first. "Does it hurt, sweetheart?"

Peter bit his lower lip, trying to blink back his tears. "Mom, I didn't push her. I swear."

The woman's voice immediately went up an octave. "Your son destroyed my daughter's project, and now hes lying to your face?"

I stood up, shielding Peter behind me. "Your daughter crying does not automatically make my son guilty."

Her expression darkened. "Excuse me?"

Before another word could be traded, a man walked over from the judges' table. He wore a sharp, deep gray suit, and his ID badge read: Silas, Professor of Structural Engineering.

He knelt, lifting the crying girl into his arms with a tender, gentle voice that cut through me like a razor.

"Don't cry, Penny. Daddy's here."

Daddy.

Silas.

My fingers turned numb.

Peter looked up at him, whispering, "Mom, he looks just like the dad in our photo."

My throat tightened so much I could barely breathe. It wasnt a mere resemblance.

It was Arthur.

My husband.

The man who had supposedly died in a tunnel collapse ten years ago.

The little girl wrapped her arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder. "Daddy, he broke my bridge. Make him apologize."

Arthur stroked her hair gently. "Alright, sweetheart. Daddy will handle it."

I stared at his face, my voice trembling but cold. "And how exactly do you plan to handle it, Professor Silas?"

He whipped his head toward me.

In that single second, his entire body went rigid. His eyes widened with absolute shock, followed quickly by a wave of pure panic, before he finally averted his gaze in shame.

I took a step forward. "Why are you silent, Professor?"

His lips parted slightly. "You..."

I cut him off. "My name is Evelyn. Evelyn Wantang. Does that name sound familiar to you, Professor Silas?"

His face lost all color.

The woman beside him frowned, looking between us. "Silas? Do you know this woman?"

I let out a soft, bitter laugh. "Silas?"

The woman wrapped her arm tightly around his, her tone turning slow and possessive. "I am his wife, Vivian. Ma'am, if your child made a mistake, it would be best if you didn't try to change the subject."

I looked at her hand. The diamond ring on her finger was blinding, its reflection stinging my eyes.

"Mrs. Vivian," I said, "let's look at the security cameras first."

Vivian sneered. "Is that really necessary? All these children saw what happened."

Peter spoke up, his voice cracking with emotion. "She dropped it herself! And she told me I didn't have a father!"

Vivians face fell. "Do not make excuses, child."

I knelt down and faced Peter. "Tell me exactly what she said."

Peters eyes welled with tears. "She said the father's section on my registration form was empty. She said my mom is a liar and my dad abandoned us because he didn't want me."

The lobby fell into a tense silence. Arthurs hand trembled visibly.

I stood up and faced him. "Professor, you're an engineer. You value evidence. Shall we review the footage, or should I call the police?"

Arthurs voice was barely a whisper. "No need for the police."

"Then we check the cameras," I demanded.

Vivian glared at him. "Silas, what are you doing? Look how hard Penny is crying."

"My son is bleeding," I shot back. "Do you not see that?"

Arthur reached out toward me, his fingers trembling as if he wanted to reach for my sleeve. "Evelyn..."

I stepped back, out of his reach. "Please address me as Peter's mother, Professor."

His hand remained frozen in midair.

The staff brought up the security footage on the main monitor. The video clearly showed Penny grabbing Peter's sketches first. Peter tried to pull them back, and Penny, stepping backward, tripped over a desk corner and dropped her own bridge. Peter hadn't touched her.

Vivian's face burned with embarrassment. Pennys crying gradually died down.

Peter wiped his tears with his sleeve, looking down at his shoes.

I gently stroked his hair. "Peter, look up."

He raised his head.

"You did nothing wrong," I told him, making sure my voice carried. "You never need to hang your head."

He choked back a sob and nodded. "Okay, Mom."

I turned back to Vivian. "Apologize."

Vivian gritted her teeth. "She is just a child."

"My son is also a child."

Arthur finally spoke up. "Vivian, make Penny apologize."

I locked eyes with him immediately. "Not just the child."

Vivian glared at me. "Don't push your luck."

I let out a cold, hollow laugh. "Your daughter called my son a fatherless bastard, and you think I am pushing my luck?"

Arthur lowered his voice, pleading. "Evelyn, let's not make a scene here."

I stared at him, my chest feeling as though it were packed with shattered glass.

"A scene?"

"Arthur, you are standing here, alive, letting another woman's child call you father."

"And you are telling me that I am making a scene?"

Vivian whipped her head to face him, her eyes wide with sudden realization. "Arthur?"

I looked at her. "So, you can't bear to hear that name either."

Arthur's face went completely gray. "Evelyn, I can explain."

"Let them apologize first," I demanded.

He was silent for a moment, then turned to Vivian. "Apologize."

Vivian's gaze was sharp enough to cut. She nudged Penny, who muttered a half-hearted "Sorry."

I kept my eyes on Vivian. She stared back, spitting out three words: "I am sorry."

"Not to me," I said. "To Peter."

Vivian turned to my son, her voice tight. "I'm sorry."

Peter didn't say it was okay. He simply looked up at me.

I took his hand. "Let's go."

Arthur took a few steps after us. "Evelyn, we need to talk."

I stopped and looked back over my shoulder.

"Ten years ago, your last words to me were to wait for you."

"You certainly made a grand return, Arthur."

Peter remained quiet all the way home.

Our apartment sat behind the old flea market. It was a tiny one bedroom place with peeling wallpaper and a cold stove. Stacks of graded homework from my adult night school classes were piled near the window, and a bowl of cold noodles sat on the small table.

Peter sat on a wooden stool, trying to hide his torn sleeve.

I brought out the antiseptic and a cotton pad. "Hand."

"Mom," he whispered, "I didn't mean to stare at him."

I dabbed the cut on his knuckles. "You can look if you want to."

He bit his lip. "Is he really my dad?"

My hand froze. A drop of the brown liquid fell onto the linoleum floor.

"Do you want him to be?" I asked quietly.

Peter thought for a long time. "The dad in our photos is a hero. The man today wasn't."

A lump formed in my throat. I looked down, carefully applying a bandage over his cut. "You're right, Peter."

"Mom, why are you crying?"

I touched my cheek, only then realizing I was weeping. "The antiseptic is just strong."

Peter wrapped his small arms around me. "Mom, I don't want a dad anymore."

I held him tight. "Okay."

"I only need you," he added.

Those words hurt worse than any blade. I wanted to tell him that I might not be able to stay with him much longer, but I couldn't bring myself to say it.

That night, I put Peter to bed. He held onto my sleeve, murmuring, "Mom, don't leave," in his sleep.

I sat by his bedside until his grip loosened.

Half the lights in our tiny living room were broken. I fumbled in the dark for my medication, taking three pills from the bottle. The moment I swallowed them, a sharp pain flared in my chest, forcing me to double over.

I gripped the edge of the table, gasping for air as cold sweat poured down my neck.

My phone vibrated on the table. It was David.

I answered, trying to steady my breathing. His voice was frantic. "Evelyn, you missed your clinic appointment today."

"Something came up," I managed to say.

"Are you in pain again? Where are you? I'll come get you."

"No, Peter is asleep. Don't come."

A brief silence followed. "Evelyn, your heart isn't a joke."

"I'll go tomorrow," I promised, clutching the pill bottle.

"I don't trust you."

"Then come block my door tomorrow morning."

"Fine. I'll be there at seven."

"Don't bring Peter sweet cinnamon rolls," I reminded him. "He has a cavity."

"Understood."

I slid down to the floor, leaning my back against the cold wooden cabinet.

Ten years ago, when the news of Arthur's accident arrived, I was two months pregnant. They said the rescue team only found his helmet. No body. No final words. Just a stamped accident report from the company.

I hadn't believed it.

I had walked to the construction site, the project office, and his company headquarters with my swelling belly. Some avoided me, some pushed me away, and some told me to stop making a fuss because he was gone.

At five months pregnant, I was diagnosed with severe cardiomyopathy. The doctor recommended terminating the pregnancy. I refused.

I kept thinking that when Arthur returned, he would be so happy to see our child. I pinned all my hope on Peter.

On the day of delivery, my heart failed. It took seven hours to save me. David was the resident doctor who took over my case. He saved my life, and he saved Peter.

Later, Arthur's parents kicked me out of our old apartment, claiming the child in my belly had brought bad luck and killed their son. I held my newborn baby and moved into the warehouse behind the flea market.

By day, I collected used books. By night, I taught adult literacy at the community center. When my chest flared, I strapped Peter to my back and knelt on the roadside, waiting for the pain to pass.

I thought I had survived the worst.

But today, Arthur stood alive before me, holding another woman's daughter.

At seven the next morning, David arrived with breakfast.

Peter's eyes lit up. "Uncle David!"

David knelt down, handing him a bag. "Savory breakfast wraps today."

Peter laughed. "Mom said you're unreliable, but you proved her wrong today."

I walked down the stairs. "When did I say he was unreliable?"

David looked up, his expression turning serious. "You look terrible, Evelyn."

"Dr. Brooks, you really know how to ruin a morning," I sighed.

"I'm here to save lives, not to flatter people," he replied. "Let's go. Peter, eat your breakfast. I'm taking your mom to the clinic."

Peter looked at me, his brow furrowing. "Mom, are you sick again?"

I knelt down to his level. "Just a routine checkup. I'll be back soon."

He frowned. "Promise?"

I offered my pinky. "Promise."

At the hospital, the tests took two hours. David's frown deepened as he read the reports.

"Don't look at me like that," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "It's scary."

"Your cardiac function has dropped again," he said flatly.

"How much time do I have left?"

He set the papers down. "Without a transplant, three to six months."

My fingers tightened. "Am I on the list?"

"There's no matching donor yet."

"Then don't scare me."

"Evelyn, you have to cooperate. You skipped your dose last night."

"I took three pills," I argued.

"You need four."

I closed my eyes. "Fine. Four next time."

The sharp sound of heels echoed in the hallway outside. Vivian stood at the entrance of the clinic, wearing a beige suit and holding a medical folder.

She looked at David, then at me. "Evelyn, so you're here."

I stood up. "Are you looking for me, Mrs. Vivian?"

David stepped in front of me. "This is a private consultation."

I patted his arm. "David, give us a moment."

"I don't recommend it," he muttered.

"I'll be quick."

Vivian gave a faint smile. "Dr. Brooks seems very devoted to you."

"Get to the point," I said, walking with her to the stairwell.

As soon as the heavy door shut, her smile vanished. "Stay away from Silas."

"His name is Arthur," I corrected.

Her eyes grew cold. "That was his past."

"Then what are Peter and I?"

She folded her arms. "An accident."

I let out a soft laugh.

"What's funny?" she snapped.

"I'm just laughing at how people like you choose such gentle words to justify cruelty."

She lowered her voice. "Ten years ago, he was always meant to choose me."

"Did you have his child?" I asked.

She blinked, then smirked. "You guessed."

"It's not hard."

She took a step closer. "My father was the primary investor for his project back then. There was an accident, and Arthur was facing criminal negligence charges. One word from my father, and his career would have been over. But my father offered him a way out: change his identity, study abroad, take over new projects, and marry me."

My limbs felt cold, but I didn't back down. "And his death certificate?"

"Part of the deal," she said. "A dead man is clean. No ex-wife making a scene, no child disputing the estate."

My heart felt squeezed by an iron fist. I leaned against the wall. "And he agreed?"

"He hesitated," she smiled. "But in the end, he got into our car."

The fluorescent lights in the stairwell were blindingly white. I heard my own shallow gasps.

"Evelyn, you lost ten years ago," Vivian sneered. "Don't come back now to humiliate yourself."

I raised my hand and slapped her hard across the face.

She clutched her cheek, shrieking, "You dare strike me?"

"That was for the twenty year old version of me, who got thrown out of her home with a child in her belly," I said.

She raised her hand to strike back, but the door flew open. David caught her wrist.

"Mrs. Vivian, there are security cameras in this hospital."

I looked at him. "Let her go."

David turned to me, frantic. "Evelyn, does your chest hurt?"

"It hurts, but I can still stand."

Vivian's eyes were red. "Do you think hitting me will bring him back to you?"

I looked at her. "You're mistaken. I find him disgusting."

When we walked out of the hospital, Arthur was waiting near the entrance.

He rushed over the moment he saw me. A black luxury car was parked by the curb, and a driver was holding an umbrella for him.

I stopped on the steps.

"Evelyn," he said, "I'm so sorry about yesterday."

"Don't call it 'yesterday,'" I replied. "You owe me far more than one day."

"I want to talk to you properly."

"Talk about how you rose from the dead?"

His expression twisted in pain. "After the accident, my injuries were severe."

"Severe enough to marry an heiress?"

"It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like?"

He stepped closer. "The project liabilities... if I didn't leave, I was going to prison. My entire team would have been ruined."

"So you left me to be a widow?"

"I thought you would move on and start a new life."

"I was pregnant," I said softly.

He froze. The rain pattered heavily against his umbrella.

"I wanted to tell you on our last phone call," I continued. "But you said you had an emergency and told me to wait. I waited ten years, Arthur."

The color drained from his face. "The child... Peter is mine?"

I began to tremble, laughing weakly. "You don't even deserve to ask."

"I didn't know," he whispered.

"Of course you didn't. You were too busy changing your name, getting your doctorate, and playing the perfect son-in-law to the foundation."

"Evelyn, I had money sent to my parents every year," he pleaded, reaching for my arm. "I told them to help you if you ever needed it."

I shoved his hand away. "They threw me out. I was six months pregnant, and they pushed me out of the door, calling me a curse. On the day I gave birth, David was the one who signed my emergency consent form because I had no one else. I never saw a single cent of your money."

He stumbled back.

"When Peter was three and had a high fever, I carried him for four blocks in the middle of the night to reach the clinic," I said. "My chest hurt so badly I collapsed at the emergency room door, and the nurse thought I was a vagrant. When Peter was five, he asked me why his dad didn't like him. I told him his father was a good man. Arthur, you made me lie to myself and our son for ten years."

His eyes welled with tears. "Evelyn, I am so sorry."

"Those words are too cheap."

"I can make it up to you both," he insisted. "I can get Peter into the best schools, give him the best life."

"Is that what he missed?" I asked. "He missed having a father stand up for him when he was called a bastard. He missed having someone cook him a warm meal when I was lying in bed with heart failure. He missed ten years of a father's life. Can you give him that?"

Arthur's tears fell. I felt no pity.

"I'll get a divorce," he whispered.

I smiled. "Don't. Don't call your belated guilt love."

"Evelyn, I loved you."

"And I loved you," I said. "But that version of me died the day you got into that car."

The pain in my chest flared, sharper than before. I bit the inside of my cheek, suppressing the metallic taste of blood.

"Your face... you look so pale," he noticed, stepping forward. "Are you sick?"

"It has nothing to do with you."

I turned to leave. After three steps, my vision went black.

"Evelyn!" David's voice echoed from behind.

I tried to answer, but warm blood welled in my throat and spilled past my lips, dripping onto the concrete steps.

Arthur rushed over. "Evelyn!"

With the last of my strength, I pushed him away.

"Don't touch me."