Married for three years, and now, finally, a positive pregnancy test. My hands trembled as I stared at the two faint lines, a joy so fierce it almost hurt. This was the baby I had fought for, enduring countless hormone injections and heartbreaking disappointments. I was about to call my husband, Simon, to give him the surprise of his life, when a text message lit up my phone. It was a shared notification, a booking confirmation from Royal Caribbean cruises. "Dear Mr. Jones, your waterbed service has been upgraded to a swing waterbed. We wish you a pleasant stay." A sweet smile touched my lips. Of course. It had to be a birthday surprise for me. But that evening, when Simon came home, he held me close, his eyes filled with an apology that felt all too real. "Sweetheart," he murmured, "I have to go on a business trip. I won't be back for your birthday." The light in my eyes died. I hid my shock, my hand slowly falling from my belly. The words "I'm pregnant" caught in my throat and stayed there. 1 After dropping the bomb, Simon disappeared into the bathroom. Maybe it was my imagination, but ever since we started trying for a baby, his touch had become less frequent, more hesitant. Sometimes, he would just look at me and say, "Sweetheart, have you lost weight?" or, "Why don't you get a facial? I thought all women liked that stuff." All these little moments, these seemingly innocent comments, now flooded my mind, each one a tiny, sharp piece of glass. In the middle of the night, some unseen force pulled me toward his phone. I opened his Amazon app. Order after order of condoms and sex toys stared back at me. I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle a sob, my body wracked with tremors. The earliest order… it dated back to the second year of our marriage. In the darkness, I looked at the man sleeping soundly beside me. Only one thought echoed in the sudden, silent void of my mind. He had someone to compare me to. Simon Jones was cheating on me. The next morning, Simon left with his suitcase. I hailed a cab and followed him at a distance. Ding. A text from him. "Sweetheart, I'm almost at the airport. About to take off. You go have fun with your friends, okay? It's on me." "Sweetheart, I miss you already." A wave of nausea rolled through me. Fifteen minutes later, I watched his car pull up to the Port of Miami. The massive, colorful sign seemed to mock me. I felt the world tilt on its axis. I saw him take a picture with his phone, then make a call. The expression on his face—a soft, sweet tenderness I, his wife, had never seen—was a knife to my heart. The cab driver, startled by my deathly pale face, practically shoved me out of his car. I hid behind a large decorative pillar and watched my husband, the man who was supposed to be on a "business trip," board the cruise ship. Then, another text. It was a video. "Sweetheart, it's so hot here. Missing you every second." I saved the video and clicked on the 'details' tab. The recording date was from a week ago. He had lied to me. Again. In that moment, I was almost grateful for his old-fashioned habits. He only used text messages, never social media. It made getting the raw, unedited footage so much easier. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my abdomen, a chill that had nothing to do with the July heat. But the physical pain was nothing, not even a fraction of the agony ripping through my heart. I sank to the ground, watching the crowds of happy people ebb and flow around me. My hand trembled as I dialed his number. As always, he answered almost immediately. "What's wrong, baby? You miss me already?" His voice was always so gentle, like a soft breeze. But now, it felt like a silken blade, each word a fatal cut. "Simon," I whispered, my eyes fixed on the distant cruise ship, unfocused and devoid of light. "Do you love me?" He paused for a second, then answered without hesitation. "Of course, I love you, sweetheart. Why would you ask that?" But he didn't know that I could hear it. The soft rustle of clothes, the friction of skin on skin. It was faint, but it was there. I didn't speak again. In a fit of self-torture, I listened to the muffled groans and heavy breathing on the other end of the line, my heart twisting into a tight, painful knot. The sky, clear just moments before, suddenly darkened, the clouds heavy with unshed rain. I pressed a hand to my stomach, unable to tell if the moisture on my face was from the sky or from my own eyes. "It's nothing," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. "Simon, when you get back, I have a gift for you." He grunted a distracted "mm-hmm," and then, as if he couldn't hold back any longer, he hung up. On the way to the hospital, I scheduled an abortion. Lying on the operating table, I could feel a life, a tiny spark I had wanted so desperately, being extinguished. When the anesthesia wore off, I searched for the Royal Caribbean's port schedule. It had departed from Miami, with stops in Nassau and Cozumel, before returning. Then, I called my sister. "Your husband… didn't he invest in one of Royal Caribbean's projects?" "Yeah, he did. Why? What's wrong?" My fingers tightened into a fist. "The cruise that left Miami today… can you get me on board when it docks in Nassau in two days?" My sister's voice sharpened with concern. "Of course. But, Anna, what are you going to do?" The trembling I had been suppressing finally broke through. "I'm going to catch a cheater." 2 "You're what?!" My sister's reaction was explosive. Everyone knew how hard Simon and I had fought to be together. Even to me, it felt like a dream that had suddenly turned into a nightmare. "He's cheating on me," I said, my voice hollow. "I found out last night." The words tasted like ash in my mouth. "Anna, where are you?" I touched my stomach, the tears finally coming, soaking my pale, drawn face. "At the hospital. I… I got rid of the baby." On the other end of the line, I heard her frantic footsteps come to a dead stop, followed by a roar of pure, unadulterated fury. "That bastard! I'm going to kill him!" After we hung up, another text from Simon arrived. "Sweetheart, I miss you so much, my heart aches. It's all old guys here. I need my beautiful, sweet-smelling wife." I used to call this constant stream of messages "dependency." Now I knew it for what it was: the guilty conscience of a man caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I couldn't even bear to think about it. Had every business trip for the past three years been a lie? The hospital room door opened. "Anna…" my sister, Kate, walked in, her eyes red. "Did you find anything?" Just before, I had asked her to use her husband's access to look up the passenger information for Simon's cabin. She nodded, practically vibrating with rage. "It's a woman named Veronica Vance." My head snapped up. "Veronica Vance?!" My hands started to shake, my breathing ragged. I couldn't believe it. The woman I had personally promoted to be my executive assistant at my own company. Kate looked like she was about to have an aneurysm. "That son of a bitch! I'm going to ruin his company! Cheating on you with his own secretary!" A thought struck me. I opened Veronica's Instagram profile. I had stumbled upon it by chance, a random suggestion from the algorithm. She didn't know I followed her. The latest post was a picture of the ocean, her hand forming a heart shape around a man's bare back. The caption read: "They were right. Older men really know what they're doing." My fingers froze. The blood in my veins turned to ice. The room started to spin. The post before that. "They say the right person will be a part of your future. And he is." The picture was of an internal promotion assessment at our company. Next to Simon's name, the word 'Approved' was circled. My numb fingers kept scrolling down, a masochistic compulsion. "365 days with my old man today! He has a surprise for me, so excited!" The picture was a silhouette of two people kissing, reflected in the window of a Ferris wheel. Tears I could no longer hold back streamed down my face, blurring the sharp, painful words on the screen. The Ferris wheel. Of all places. The one place he always said he was too busy to take me back to. The place where we first fell in love. Simon, you are so cruel. I read through her posts again and again, trying to burn these ugly images into my brain, to replace the beautiful memories I held so dear. "Anna…" Kate's worried voice pulled me back to the present. I hadn't even realized I was crying. "Maybe… maybe you shouldn't go." I shook my head, my grief hardening into a cold resolve. "No. I'm going. The ones who deserve to live in the shadows are them, not me." The next day, Kate and I flew to Nassau. We boarded the ship at the port. The moment I stepped on deck, it was as if my eyes had a built-in tracking device. I spotted him immediately, the tallest, most handsome man in the crowd. I was hidden behind sunglasses and a mask, a ghost in the boisterous crowd. No one noticed me. I watched the man who always complained that ice cream was too sweet for him, take a bite of her leftover cone. I watched the man who always hated public displays of affection, hold her at the bow of the ship and shout "I love you" to the wind. I watched him pull a ring from his pocket and slide it onto her ring finger. I looked down at my own bare hands. And felt the last of my soul drain away. 3 Looking at my own reflection in a nearby window, I felt a surge of bitter, tragic laughter. I had defied my family, given up everything to be with him. Back then, all we had was love. We started from nothing in a tiny, 200-square-foot apartment, and built the empire that was now Jones Industries. But why? Why was the reward for all my courage, all my faith, this bottomless well of bitterness? The tears I had been holding back finally came, a torrent I couldn't stop. They were endless, like the corrosive sorrow that was eating away at my heart. Kate stood beside me, seething. "I'm going to rip those two to shreds!" I grabbed her arm, shaking my head. Maybe it was a pathetic, foolish hope, but I still had to try. I called Simon. I watched him take out his phone, look at the screen, hesitate, and then decline the call. My vision blurred. But, like a moth to a flame, I dialed again, desperate for some kind of answer. This time, Veronica snatched the phone from his hand and, with his silent, indulgent permission, declined the call again. My arm fell limply to my side. I let out a dry, humorless laugh. I heard Veronica pout. "Simon, how much longer do I have to hide?" Her voice was thick with a manufactured grievance. "We love each other. Why can't we just be together?" Simon pocketed his phone without another glance. He pulled her into his arms, kissing her again and again. "Shh, baby, don't be difficult. I just… I don't know how to break it to her." His voice was the same soft, gentle murmur he always used with me. So nothing I had was ever truly mine. He continued to soothe her. "Don't worry. As soon as I get back, I'll tell her, okay? Hmm? Don't be mad. Give me a smile." Veronica buried her face in his chest, a playful pout on her lips. "You're terrible!" I hid behind a cluster of fake palm trees, my tears long since run dry. My eyes, burning and raw, stared at them, unblinking, a self-inflicted torture. And that last, pathetic flicker of hope was crushed into dust by Simon's empty words. Kate couldn't stand it anymore. She dragged me back to our cabin. She wanted to say something, but seeing my vacant, shattered expression, she wisely kept her mouth shut. My phone buzzed again. "Baby? What's wrong? I was in a meeting, couldn't answer." I didn't reply. The words were nauseating, an insult. Then, a notification: a friend has updated their story. I clicked on it. It was Veronica. "This time, it's finally for real!" I walked out onto the balcony, staring at the vast, endless ocean. A cold numbness began to spread through me. I pulled myself together and placed a video call to Simon. This time, he answered instantly. "Baby, what's wrong? Why did you call so many times?" Looking at his familiar face on the screen, I felt a wave of disgust. "Nothing, honey. I just missed you. I'm out with Kate today. Where are you?" He smiled, that same carefree, charming smile. "At a client's office. You two have fun. I just transferred two million to your account." I saw the text notification for the transfer. I ended the call without another word. Just then, Kate burst into the room, out of breath. "I found out. Tonight, in the main ballroom, there's going to be a huge, public marriage proposal." My eyes turned to ice. A cold, cynical smile touched my lips. "Simon Jones?" She nodded, her face contorted in a grimace of disgust. My fingers tightened around my phone until my knuckles were white. "Good. Then we'll have to go give the happy couple a gift." 4 I sat on the balcony, unmoving. From day, to dusk, to night. I stared at the ocean, my vision a constant, blurry haze. It finally dawned on me. The end for Simon and me was this: two people sharing a bed, but living in different worlds, drifting further and further apart. The love was real, once. The lack of love is just as real now. Memories played on a loop in my mind, only to be shattered by the brutal hand of betrayal. During that time, Kate used her husband's credentials to patch me into the ballroom's security feed. I watched him sitting in a corner, Veronica perched on his lap. She playfully slipped the ring from his finger—the ring I had made for him with my own hands—and dropped it into a glass of red wine. Simon just smiled, indulging her every whim. I zoomed in. The ring, engraved with both our names, lay at the bottom of the glass, a tiny, sunken treasure. My heart seized for a moment. Then, I heard Simon's voice through the feed. "Be good, now. It'll be a problem if she finds out." "I have a surprise for you later." Veronica smiled, her arms wrapping around his neck. "What is it?" I laughed coldly to myself. I chose that exact moment of their tender intimacy to call him. Simon gestured for her to be quiet before answering. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" My fingers trembled. "Nothing. I just saw an ad for a Royal Caribbean cruise online. It looked beautiful. I want to go." On the other end of the line, there was a sharp intake of breath. I watched the man on the monitor push Veronica off his lap, his eyes darting around nervously. He let out a long, slow breath before answering. "Okay. As soon as I get back from this trip, I'll take you, baby. How does that sound?" "Sounds great," I said, my voice light. "I wonder if that day will ever come." A flicker of panic crossed his face. "Sweetheart, where are you?" I laughed. "At home, of course. Where else would I be?" The man on the screen let out another sigh of relief, yanking at his tie in frustration. He forced his voice to remain calm. "Good. You be a good girl and wait for me at home." I didn't answer. I just hung up. I watched him stare at his phone, frowning. Veronica had to call his name several times before he snapped out of his trance. Eight p.m. Kate and I were already in the beautifully decorated ballroom, hidden in a dark corner. Veronica entered alone. As she walked, strangers handed her a single red rose. She covered her mouth, her eyes welling with tears, lost in her own fairytale. The man of her dreams was waiting for her in the center of the room, holding a ring. "Simon…" she whispered, tears streaming down her happy face. I smirked. I was actually looking forward to this. Simon dropped to one knee, holding the ring up to her, his eyes full of adoration. "Will you marry me?" Amidst the cheers and applause of the crowd, Veronica extended her hand. "I do—" "You do what?" My voice cut through the air, shattering the dream. Every head in the room turned to look at me as I emerged from the shadows. In the center of the room, the two of them were frozen, their expressions a priceless mixture of shock and horror. I smiled, walking slowly towards them. Under Veronica's stunned, disbelieving gaze, I took the ring from Simon's hand. And dropped it into a glass of red wine. Then I pulled out the pregnancy test and held it up for the slowly rising, pale-faced Simon to see. "Honey," I said, my voice sweet as poison, "I do believe bigamy is illegal."
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