Your Honor, I Was Never His Wife

Chapter 1

Alyssa’s Pov

That morning, I could barely remember the last time I felt this grateful. As I opened my eyes and looked around the room I had shared with Nathaniel, I smiled even before I moved from the bed.

Today was not just another day. It was our seventh wedding anniversary. A small smile formed on my lips as I sat up slowly, letting myself feel the importance of the day.

I glanced at the empty space beside me on the bed and remembered that Nathaniel had already left for work. He had woken up earlier than usual because of an important meeting with the board of directors.

Before leaving, he had kissed my forehead and whispered that he would see me later. I pretended to still be asleep, but I had been awake the entire time.

Today, I wanted to surprise him. I wanted him to come home and remember how much we had built together. The dinner reservation was already arranged.

I had personally chosen the restaurant because it was one of the places we visited during our first year of marriage. I’d spoken with the manager and arranged for a private area decorated with simple flowers and candles. Nothing excessive that would make him uncomfortable.

Only something meaningful that belonged to us.

I got out of bed and walked toward the bathroom, still smiling as I thought about the evening ahead.

Nathaniel had given me beautiful gifts throughout the years. Expensive jewelry, designer handbags, luxury vacations, and things most people dreamed about receiving. I appreciated every single one because I knew he had given them to me with love.

But gifts had never been what mattered most to me. The memories behind them were what I treasured. And that was why I had spent weeks planning his gift this year.

I walked toward the small table near the window where I had carefully placed the wooden frame I had bought for him. It was elegant but simple, and exactly the kind of thing Nathaniel preferred. Inside the frame, there was a space waiting for the most important piece.

Our marriage certificate.

I pictured his reaction when he saw it. Him laughing softly and telling me that I was still sentimental after all these years. I imagined him shaking his head while secretly loving the fact that I had gone out of my way to preserve something so meaningful.

The certificate was not just a document to me. It represented the day we stood together and chose the future we wanted.

I wanted him to have something he could keep forever. Something that reminded him that before the meetings, the companies, the money, and the responsibilities, there was simply us.

I reached out and touched the empty space inside the frame, smiling. “This is perfect,” I whispered to myself.

I knew that he would probably tease me for being emotional. He always said I attached feelings to everything.

Maybe I did. But I had never regretted loving deeply. I had given so much of myself to our marriage. I had stepped away from certain opportunities, placed some of my own dreams aside, and spent years supporting Nathaniel as he built the Edelman Group into the company it was today.

I thought about the late nights where he sat in his office surrounded by documents, convinced that one wrong decision could destroy everything. I remembered sitting beside him, reviewing plans, offering advice, and helping him find solutions when he thought there were none.

I had never done those things because I wanted recognition. I did them because he was my husband and I believed his success was our success.

A small sadness appeared inside me as I thought about everything I had given up, but I quickly pushed it away.

I looked at myself in the mirror and smiled. “It was worth it,” I told myself quietly.

After taking my shower, I spent extra time getting ready. I chose a dress I knew he loved, a soft-colored dress that was elegant without being too formal. I styled my hair carefully, adding gentle waves that framed my face and applied my makeup lightly while using the perfume Nathaniel always complimented.

The registry office was my first stop.

I wanted to collect the official copy of our marriage certificate before heading to the restaurant. I had arranged for everything else, but I wanted the certificate to be the final piece of Nathaniel’s gift.

The moment I stepped in, I immediately noticed how calm and organized everything looked. A woman sat behind the front desk, sorting through a stack of documents. When I approached, she looked up and offered a warm smile.

"Good morning," she said.

"Good morning," I replied, returning her smile. "I hope you can help me with something today."

"Of course. What do you need?"

"I would like to collect a certified copy of my marriage certificate."

Her smile widened with curiosity. "A special occasion?"

I laughed softly, feeling a flicker of pride at the thought. "Yes, my seventh anniversary."

Her expression softened immediately, and something like genuine warmth crossed her face. "Seven years? That is lovely."

I nodded, as my cheeks got warm under her attention. "It is. I know some people think celebrating anniversaries becomes unnecessary after a while, but I still believe every year matters."

"I agree completely," she said, her tone turning almost confessional. "My husband says I am too sentimental, but I keep every card he has ever given me."

"Then we understand each other perfectly," I said, sharing in her small, easy laughter.

She turned back to her screen and began typing. "May I have your name, please?"

"Alyssa Marlowe."

"And your husband's name?"

"Nathaniel Edelman."

I watched as she entered the information carefully, her eyes tracking the screen as the system processed the request. I stood there patiently, as my mind drifted towards the evening ahead. I imagined Nathaniel's face when I told him what I had done, the surprise in his eyes, the warmth of his smile, and the familiar sound of him telling me he loved me.

Then, without warning, she stopped typing. The smile that had lit her face only moments before began to fade, replaced by something more guarded. I felt my own smile falter as I watched her expression shift, and a quiet unease settled low in my stomach.

"Is everything okay?" I asked.

She did not answer right away. Her eyes moved across the screen again, slower this time, as though she was searching for something she had missed.

"Ma'am," she finally said, and the uncertainty in her voice made my chest tighten.

"Yes?"

She looked back at me, her expression careful. "There seems to be an issue."

I forced a small laugh, trying to keep the moment light. "An issue?"

"Yes. I cannot locate the record."

I frowned, unwilling to let the uneasiness I felt take root. "Maybe there has been a mistake. Could you try again?"

She nodded and typed once more, her fingers moved steadily across the keyboard while I watched. I could hear my heartbeat quicken even as I told myself to stay calm. It was probably nothing more than a system error, the kind of small glitch that happened all the time. That was all it could be.

After a few seconds, she looked up again, and this time there was real hesitation in her eyes. "I'm sorry, but I still cannot find it."

I blinked, caught off guard by the certainty in her voice. "Could you check the spelling?"

She looked mildly surprised by the request. "I did."

"Maybe check again. Alyssa Marlowe, Nathaniel Edelman." I spelled both names slowly, as though precision alone could fix whatever had gone wrong.

She typed again, then met my eyes. "I have entered it correctly."

Realizing my persistence might have sounded like doubt in her ability, I softened my tone and offered an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to suggest you made an error. I just know we were married, so I assumed the system must be wrong."

She nodded politely, though her expression remained unreadable. "I understand."

I laughed again, quieter this time, still trying to keep the moment from tipping into something heavier. "Honestly, this would be a strange anniversary surprise if the system decided to lose my marriage certificate."

She did not laugh with me. Instead, she turned back to the screen, her focus sharpening as she typed something new. Then, without a word, she printed a single page.

My eyes followed the paper as it emerged from the machine, and for a brief moment, I felt relieved. It was obvious that I had let my imagination run further than it needed to, worrying over nothing.

I watched as the woman picked up the page and studied it for a long moment before looking back at me. Then, slowly, she set it down on the counter between us.

"Ma'am," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, "you were never his wife."