Should You Tell Your Spouse About Husband'S First Love?

Nala Oka has loved Ivan Winters for as long as she can remember. Though they were once childhood friends, Ivan barely remembers the bond they shared, while Nala has never forgotten him. After a drunken one-night encounter leaves her pregnant, Nala finds herself trapped in a shotgun marriage to a man who resents her. When tragedy strikes and she delivers a stillborn baby, Ivan's blame only deepens the divide between them. Branded a gold digger and denied the affection she longs for, Nala endures a loveless marriage, determined to make the best of her circumstances. Her fragile hopes are shattered when Ivan's former lover returns and Nala discovers he has been unfaithful. Worse still, he has built a family with another woman. Heartbroken, Nala signs the divorce papers and walks away, determined never to look back. Years later, fate brings them together again when Nala becomes a surrogate for her best friend. No longer the timid woman Ivan once knew, she refuses to tolerate his anger or control. But as old secrets come to light and long-standing misunderstandings begin to unravel, both are forced to confront painful truths about their past. Now Ivan is determined to win back the woman he once pushed away. Yet Nala knows all too well the cost of trusting him. As buried feelings resurface and old wounds threaten to reopen, she must decide whether some loves deserve a second chance—or whether walking away remains the only path to happiness.

On the day I discovered I was pregnant, my husband's first love—who also happened to be my half-sister—returned.

It was a national holiday and we decided to drive back to my husband's hometown to spend the holidays. One day before we left, my husband's childhood crush came crying to him that she had not managed to buy train tickets home. My husband immediately decided to let her have my seat in the car and insisted that I take the train instead. I looked at him in disbelief. There was shock in my eyes. Even my son insisted I take the train. "Mommy, Aunt Rosie is so pretty. How could you make her take the train?" I did not argue. I booked my train ticket right in front of them. However, it was to my own hometown. I no longer wanted a biased husband and a disloyal son.

On my wedding day, my fiance's first love appeared at the wedding ceremony wearing the exact same haute couture gown as mine. I watched them stand together at the entrance, greeting the guests as if they were the bride and groom. Maintaining a calm expression, I complimented them, saying they looked like the perfect couple—beauty and brains, a match made in heaven. She burst into tears and fled the scene. He, however, didn't hesitate to humiliate me in front of everyone, accusing me of being petty and narrow-minded. When the wedding banquet was over, he left for what was supposed to be our honeymoon—with her by his side. I didn't argue or cause a scene. Instead, I quietly booked an appointment for an abortion.

At the medical summit, my husband's precious first love thought the old professor's clothes were too shabby for such a grand occasion. So she dropped his conference badge into the trash. The old man shook with fury and threatened to pull his company's partnership with us on the spot. In my last life, I slapped her across the face right there, then bowed and scraped until the professor forgave us, and that was the only thing that saved our company. My husband, meanwhile, was heartbroken that his darling had been hit, and took her home to comfort her. Later, our company rode the professor's patented miracle drug all the way to its IPO. On the day of the celebration, indecent videos made with my face swapped via AI rolled continuously across the giant screen. And in front of a hall full of sneering guests, my husband pulled his first love tight against his chest. "You love slapping people in public, don't you? Today you get to taste what it feels like to be finished." I ran out of the hotel, sick with shame, and a runaway truck flattened me into the pavement. Then he turned around, threw the wedding of the century for his golden girl, and drove my parents into the street to die alone in the cold. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the exact second she tossed that badge into the trash. This time, I didn't fly into a rage to stop her. Instead I curled my arm sweetly through my husband's and laughed louder than anyone in the room. "Babe, Tiffany's got such a sharp eye. Security should've thrown this ragged beggar out ages ago."

On our third wedding anniversary, my wife's first love came back to town. Right in front of everyone, he pulled out a piece of lingerie and handed it to her. "I always thought you looked your best in this," he said. As the crowd laughed, my wife didn't get upset—instead, she looked almost coy. "Well, that depends on who I'm wearing it for," she replied. Then she turned to me, her eyes dripping with contempt. "Why would I bother trying to impress a man with no romance in his bones?" Her first love shot me a smug look. I just smiled, raised my glass to him, and walked off. But suddenly, my wife didn't look so sure of herself anymore.