Two days before our engagement party, Charles traced the tip of my finger with his thumb and suddenly brought it to his lips for a kiss. "Nora," he murmured, "don't all you girls love getting your nails done? How come you never do?" I was ironing the dress I planned to wear, and I smiled without looking up. "I'm on a computer all day. It's a pain to type with long nails." "You should get them done. A French almond manicure would look beautiful on you." He brushed his thumb over the edge of my nail. "You know, with a sheer pink base and a little blooming effect. It would really suit your skin tone." A hiss of steam from the iron scalded my hand. I flinched, looking up at him. "Since when do you know so much about manicures?" 1 The air hung still for a few seconds. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes before he forced a smile. "Oh, I just saw it online somewhere." We’d known each other for fifteen years, been in love for ten. I knew him better than I knew myself. When he lied, he would look away and then flash that stiff, unnatural smile. Then, he'd change the subject. "I just remembered, I have a package downstairs I forgot to pick up. I'll be right back." He patted my head out of habit and walked out the door, not even bothering to change out of his slippers. His phone was sitting right there on the couch. I stared at it for a long moment before picking it up, my fingers typing in his passcode. After all this time together, it was the first time I had ever looked through his phone. There was nothing. It was pristine. I was his only pinned chat, my contact name saved as "The Wife." The rest of his chat history was just family, our mutual friends, and colleagues. I should have been relieved. But the knot of dread in my stomach only tightened. On a dark impulse, I opened his contacts and checked the "recently added" list in his messaging app. There was only one person from the last three months. The profile picture was of Kyrie Irving in his jersey—Charles’s favorite basketball player. I tapped on the profile. It was a girl. Her username was Skylar. The chat history was gone. Even the initial "friend request accepted" notification had been deleted. I backed out and typed her username into the search bar. A group chat popped up: "The Drinking Crew." Charles had archived the group, but the chat history was all there. Five people: Charles, Skylar, and Charles’s three childhood friends—Sean, Mike, and Ben. And just like that, I learned the truth. All those nights over the last three months when Charles was "suddenly called into work for overtime," he was actually at a bar. Skylar was the bartender. The four of them were regulars. On July 6th, Sean had sent a photo. Skylar was nestled against Charles, her eyes hazy from drink, her arm wrapped around his as she laughed. I saw them instantly—her long, slender fingers, tipped with perfect French almond nails. 【Pic of the year!】 a message from Sean read. 【Charles, man, if Nora wasn't in the picture, I'd totally set you two up.】 Charles’s reply: 【If Nora wasn't in the picture, I wouldn't need your help.】 July 15th, a message from Charles: 【Hey, don't send that video of me and Skylar from last night to anyone. It was just an accident.】 Sean: 【Got you, bro. No worries.】 Skylar: 【It was just a drunken kiss. Don't sweat it.】 【Your girlfriend isn't that petty, is she?】 Followed by a string of laughing emojis. July 25th, a message from Mike: 【What the hell happened? Skylar, you're a legend. You left a hickey on Charles's neck!】 Ben: 【Charles, you're a dead man. If Nora sees that, she'll kill you!】 Charles: 【Haven’t been home for a couple of days. Been crashing at Skylar's.】 I finally understood. The "sudden business trip" he'd taken was just an excuse to hide the mark on his neck from me. I kept scrolling. August 1st. The day Charles proposed to me. That night, he’d left me to "hang out with the guys" and didn't come home. The next day, he showed up with a cut on his face. He said one of the guys got drunk and they’d gotten into a stupid fight. That wasn't it at all. Sean: 【Charles, my man! Saving the damsel in distress!】 Charles: 【That bastard dared to hit on Skylar. I'm letting him off easy by not breaking his hands.】 Skylar: 【Thanks for last night. When you get married, who's going to protect me like this?】 Charles: 【You’re my girl. Married or not, I’ll protect you forever.】 It felt like a giant hand was squeezing my heart, cutting off my air. As I finished reading, so many things from the past few months finally clicked into place. Charles’s suspiciously frequent overtime, the stray cat hairs on his clothes, the unfamiliar playlists that kept appearing on his Spotify. All of it. It was all connected to Skylar. It took me a full minute to absorb the reality. In the year we were supposed to get married, my fiancé’s heart had wandered. 2 I clicked on his payment history. A week ago, Charles had spent over a hundred dollars at a high-end nail salon downtown. The manicure… it finally all made sense. I heard a noise at the door and quickly placed his phone back on the couch. He returned with a pile of packages, all for me. “Here, this is that mille-crepe cake you’ve been wanting.” “And that phone case you liked. I bought it in all three colors.” “And this—your new Labubu blind box. I managed to snag it for you.” He laid everything out, then smiled at me. When he smiled, his eyes would curve into crescents. It was beautiful. “You’re so good to me.” “You’re my wife. Who else would I be good to?” I watched him, my heart feeling like it was being sliced apart. The next morning, I went to that nail salon. “Could you please pull up the security footage from this day?” In the video, he and Skylar walked in, arm in arm. Charles was even carrying her blue canvas tote bag. He sat on the sofa for the entire four-hour appointment, just waiting for her. Every now and then, Skylar would turn and say something to him. Even through the grainy footage, the adoration on his face was unmistakable. When her nails were done, she bounced over to him, holding out her hands for him to see. Charles smiled, leaned down, and gently squeezed her fingertips. I watched in silence until the salon employee handed me a tissue. Only then did I realize I was crying. I remember that day vividly. I was swamped with work and my stomach was killing me. After pulling an all-nighter, I had to force myself to go out and buy flowers and party favors for our engagement party. He had told me a major problem came up with his project and he couldn't help. He even gave me a detailed, dramatic account of his boss throwing a fit. It had all been a lie. He’d spent those four hours in a nail salon with Skylar. “Have they been here before?” I asked the employee. She hesitated. "Miss Skylar is one of our regulars. She comes in about twice a month. For the past month, this gentleman has always come with her." I nodded slowly. “I’d like the same thing she got. A French almond manicure. Sheer pink base, with a blooming effect.” When I got home that evening, Charles saw my new nails. The color drained from his face. “Do you like them?” I asked, waving my hand at him. He took an involuntary step back. “I got them done just like you suggested. Don’t you like them?” “They’re… beautiful.” I looked him straight in the eye. “Is there anything you want to say to me?” A storm of emotions churned in his eyes. Desperate panic he was trying to hide, hesitation, guilt. In the end, he just shook his head. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders in that familiar, intimate way. “Nora, let’s get some rest. Tomorrow is our big day.” “I suddenly remembered, Jenna needed me for something. I have to go over to her place for a bit,” I said, pulling away. He frowned slightly. “Your best friend has the worst timing. Why didn’t she say something earlier? It’s almost ten. Let me drive you.” I shook my head, slipped my hand from his grasp, and walked out of the apartment. Maybe I just wanted to rip the band-aid off, to make my heart break completely and get it over with. I went to Skylar’s bar—a place called “Serendipity.” 3 The lighting was dim and intimate, a lazy jazz tune drifting through the air. I spotted her immediately—the girl behind the bar, mixing a drink. She wore flawless makeup and had a head of rebellious pink hair. She was carefully tucking a slice of lemon against the inside of a glass. I never thought Charles would fall for someone so flashy, so vibrant. He always said he loved how quiet and gentle I was, how I was so understanding, like a flower that bloomed just for him. I walked up to the bar. “A Long Island Iced Tea, please.” Skylar glanced at me and offered a small, sad smile. “Coming right up. Just a moment.” “You don’t look very happy,” I observed. “…Is it that obvious?” She rubbed the corner of her eye. “The man I love is getting engaged tomorrow.” “Did you try to stop him?” She shook her head, her expression stubborn. “What right do I have? Our whole relationship was a mistake from the start.” I took the drink she offered, my voice trembling. “Make me another one. This one’s for you.” Maybe she was just desperate to unload the weight on her chest. All it took was one drink, and she started treating me like her personal diary, telling me every last detail about her and Charles. “I knew he had a girlfriend, but I fell for him anyway.” “I tried my clumsy little ways of flirting, of showing him I was interested. He knew what I was doing, but he never once pushed me away.” “One night, I got drunk and kissed him. I think we were both just waiting for it to happen. He pinned me against the bathroom stall… that was our first time.” “After we sobered up, he said he couldn’t betray his fiancée. But when I told him I was scared to be alone, he still came over.” “I know he doesn’t love his girlfriend anymore. That thirty-year-old hag, she’s so frumpy and old-fashioned, doesn’t even know how to put on makeup. I have no idea how he stood her for so many years.” “He told me he was getting engaged. I cried for hours, and he just held me and comforted me until I fell asleep. Then he left.” “I think I went crazy. I actually went to their apartment, his and his fiancée’s. He told me I was crazy, too. We ended up in their bedroom, on her bed. We didn’t even use a condom.” “I didn’t take a pill that time. I just kept thinking, if I got pregnant, maybe he would choose me.” “When he holds me, I can really feel that he loves me. If I had just met him first, there’s no way he would have chosen that old woman, right?” Her eyes were red and swollen. She gave me an embarrassed smile. “You don’t think I’m pathetic, do you?” In that moment, my heart felt like it had been hollowed out. The pain of betrayal and the sting of humiliation twisted together until it all went numb. A phone rang. She pulled it out, and a smile broke through her tears. “See? I told you he can’t let me go.” She put it on speaker. Charles’s voice drifted through the bar. “Babe, you at the bar? Can I come see you?” “You’re getting engaged tomorrow—” “I’m already outside. Just one last time. I want to hold you again.” By the time Charles walked in, I was already gone. Standing on the street corner, I watched as Skylar flew into his arms. The kiss was fierce and desperate. I clutched my chest, turned, and walked away without doing a thing.
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