Love in the Lowercase

There are two moments of profound vulnerability in love. The first is when you’re consumed by a burning passion for someone, desperate to make them yours, chasing them with everything you have. The second is when you know they don't love you anymore, but you still can't let go. I spent six years in the first moment. I spent five years in the second. 1 My husband’s first love came back to town. He sent me away on a business trip, then threw a lavish welcome-home party for her under the guise of a class reunion. When I arrived, I found him locked in a passionate, lingering kiss with Lydia. In a corner simmering with unspoken history, my sudden appearance cast a chilling frost over the warm reunion. The air grew thick and still. In the suffocating silence, Caleb dragged me into the restroom. His expression was glacial. “Are you trying to humiliate me on purpose, Julia?” I stared at his lips, swollen and red from the kiss, and my heart clenched. “Caleb, do you even see me as your wife?” He scoffed. “You really haven't changed at all, have you? So damn needy.” His voice dripped with contempt. “I told you from the very beginning. There’s only one woman I’ll ever call my wife, and that’s Lydia.” “But Lydia’s already—” A slap, swift and merciless, cut me off. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, as if I were the one forcing him into this humiliating display of devotion to another woman. Utterly drained, I let out a slow breath. “Caleb, let's get a divorce.” A flicker of surprise crossed his face before it hardened back into a sneer. “If anyone’s filing for divorce, it’ll be me.” His voice was low and menacing. “You, Julia, don’t have the right.” 2 I didn’t have the right. Any rights I had were scraps he’d thrown me from the start. Caleb had married me out of spite. Five years ago, after a fight with Lydia, he’d made a grand, public spectacle of confessing his feelings for me. The very next day, he received news of Lydia’s engagement—to his own cousin. Blinded by rage, he crashed their engagement party and then dragged me straight to City Hall. Why me? Because I was at my lowest point, a convenient prop to slap Lydia in the face with. Everyone said I was just the rebound, a pathetic second choice. I didn’t care. Because I loved Caleb. I’d loved him since I was seventeen. I loved him for shouting, “The cops are here!” in that dark alleyway. I loved the sound of the wind chime on his backpack, tinkling in the evening breeze. Most of all, I loved him for keeping my secret for two long years. I loved him, even knowing his heart belonged to someone else. After we married, I bent over backward for him. I was deferential, accommodating, managing every detail of our lives with meticulous care. In five years, his parents had come to adore me, showering me with praise. But Caleb remained as cold as ice. My sin? The day Lydia left the country, I’d locked him in our bedroom. He had been planning to follow her, but as the sole heir to the Sterling family, he was bound to stay. With nowhere to channel his fury, he dumped it all on me. I grew accustomed to his cruel words, his endless humiliations. But on those nights when he was drunk, when he’d cling to me, a drunken, weeping mess, crying out Lydia’s name… each syllable was a silver needle piercing my heart. In those moments, I’d lie to myself. I’d kiss him to silence his lips, and in the muffled sounds, I could pretend he was calling my name, pretend it was me he loved. But the fantasy would shatter the next morning with the sting of a careless slap, a brutal reminder of reality. Every glare, every word, was proof: he didn’t love me. He never would. In his eyes, my love was something shameful, something to be hidden. That’s why, for five years, he’d been relentlessly trying to divorce me. He used every trick in the book. He was photographed leaving exclusive clubs with models, spotted at karaoke bars with rising starlets. On our third anniversary, he staged a “drunken” call while I was away on business. I drove through the night, frantic with worry, only to walk in on a live show playing out in our living room. I flew into a rage, physically throwing the woman out. When I turned back, Caleb was lounging elegantly on the sofa in a silk robe. His mocking gaze cut through the haze of cigarette smoke, a blade twisting in my chest. He gestured lazily towards our marriage certificate on the coffee table. “Let’s find some time to take care of this.” He knew I’d rush back. He had orchestrated the whole thing. He wasn’t incapable of touching someone; he just didn’t want to touch me. His indifference was a net, closing in around me, condemning my love to a slow death. “If you’re tired, go rest,” I said, my voice steady as I took off my coat and began cleaning up the mess. “Make sure you shower. Women like that are filthy.” “Julia!” Caleb’s voice turned hard. “If you have any shred of dignity, you’ll sign the damn papers.” I ignored him. “If you’re hungry, I can make you some—” A sharp slap cut through my words. Caleb’s eyes were bloodshot, his tone dripping with scorn. “God, you’re pathetic, Julia! You think this will get you control of Sterling Corp? That clinging to this marriage will hand you the company?” He stared at me, his teeth clenched. “Keep dreaming.” He looked at me as if I were his mortal enemy. That day, staring at our marriage certificate, my world tilted. Dreaming. I had been dreaming all along. I thought my years of silent devotion had finally paid off, that I could finally love him out in the open. I was so sure that, with time, he would see my love was fiercer, more real than Lydia’s. How utterly ridiculous it all was. 3 I woke up in an unfamiliar room. My head felt like it was splitting open. “You’re awake?” The door opened and a man walked in. “Here, drink this. It’ll help with the hangover.” I looked at him, then down at my own naked body under the sheets. A cold sweat prickled my skin. He seemed to notice my panic. “What are you thinking?” he said, walking closer. He gently turned my face towards him, his eyes deep and knowing. “What, you’ve forgotten me already?” I stared at his face for a long moment before two words escaped my lips. “Liam…?” He smiled. “Long time no see, Julia.” Seeing him wasn’t strange in itself; he was Lydia’s husband. But seeing him here, now, was beyond strange. “How did I get here?” “You were wasted last night. I found you passed out on the street. Figured I’d carry you home before you froze to death.” Right. I remembered now. After storming out of the reunion, I’d called my friend Chloe and we’d gone drinking. “Where’s Chloe?” “Sleeping in the guest room.” “And… this?” I gestured to my state of undress. “You threw up all over yourself. I had someone help clean you up.” He said it so casually that I felt foolish for my suspicion. I managed an embarrassed laugh. “Thank you.” He shrugged. “Buy me dinner sometime.” I didn’t know much about Liam. He was Caleb’s cousin, a transfer student our sophomore year of high school. He was always quiet and shy, trailing after Caleb like a shadow, a habit that continued all the way through college. He handed me a set of clothes. “Borrowed these from my downstairs neighbor.” After a bit of small talk, he asked about Caleb and me. I guessed he hadn't been at the reunion either. “We’re fine.” A faint smile played on his lips. “Fine? The two of them were practically devouring each other, and you call that fine?” I froze, then gave a bitter laugh. “Look who’s talking. Neither of us is in a position to judge the other.” “That’s where we’re different,” he said nonchalantly. “I don’t love Lydia.” “Then why did you marry her?” He pursed his lips. “Caleb doesn’t love you, but he married you, didn’t he?” He was always brutally honest. I fell silent. “So,” he began, his tone suddenly hesitant, “are you really going to divorce him?” I looked at him, surprised. “I was in the restroom yesterday. I… overheard you two talking.” His voice got quieter and quieter, and I couldn't help but smile. “Just angry words.” He looked vaguely disappointed. I didn’t stay long. I stopped by the office, then went home. Caleb was in the living room, eating lunch alone. He looked me up and down. “You weren’t home last night. Or at the office. Where were you?” “Meeting a client,” I said, shrugging off the ill-fitting coat. His face darkened. “Julia, if you dare cheat on me, I’ll make sure everyone pays.” How ironic. He could cheat, but I couldn’t. “If you can’t handle it, let’s just get divorced,” I said wearily. “Are you threatening me, Julia?” He slammed his fork on the table. “Don’t you dare use my father against me!” He was the one who wanted a divorce, and now he was the one fighting it. I glanced at his furious face and turned towards the bedroom. “Whatever you want, Caleb.” “Julia, you get back here! You—” The bedroom door clicked shut, silencing his shouts. I collapsed onto the bed, a strange emptiness hollowing me out. They say that with enough time, a man can mistake constant companionship and care for love. Why didn’t that work for me? Until yesterday, I’d never seriously considered divorcing him. Or rather, I never thought I needed his love to sustain our marriage. I was content to be the one who loved without reciprocation, to keep the peace by always backing down. I just wanted to be by his side, at least until something truly unforgivable happened. Just like that year in the alley, when he stood silhouetted against the light, neither stepping forward nor walking away… The ringing of my phone shattered my thoughts. It was my sister, her voice choked with sobs. “Julia… Mom’s not going to make it.” In that instant, everything else faded away. I bolted out the door, not even hearing whatever Caleb was shouting behind me. 4 The hospital room was filled with muffled sobs, and the heavy scent of antiseptic stung my hungover senses. My mother lay peacefully on the bed. For a moment, I was transported back to those nights eleven years ago, when I’d stood guard outside her room with a knife in my hand. Back then, my father’s business had failed, leaving us with a mountain of debt before he jumped from a building. My mother cried herself sick, and soon the debt collectors had her hospitalized. My sister, to pay off the debts, married a much older man and was thrown into the vipers’ nest of his family’s internal power struggles. And I was seventeen. Powerless. Caleb’s mother was comforting my sister. Caleb himself handed me a cup of hot water. “If you need anything, just ask.” He had already done so much. The money he’d donated had given my mother eleven more years with me. “Thank you.” He seemed unsatisfied with my reply. “If you need to cry, I can—” Overwhelmed, I pulled him into a hug. “Caleb, thank you.” He didn’t push me away. He just gently patted my back, a tenderness I’d never felt from him before. After that, Caleb changed. The sarcasm and coldness vanished, replaced by patience and even warmth. He started accompanying me to corporate events, would playfully whine for my attention in public, and even made me porridge when my stomach ached from drinking too much at business dinners. When rumors started to spread, he posted a picture of himself stealing a kiss from me on social media. He was showing the world how much he loved me. But I knew the truth. It was all a calculated performance to make Lydia jealous. At the charity gala, he was radiant in a custom-tailored suit. Even Lydia, who usually ignored him, couldn’t help but steal a few glances. As the top donor, he stood on stage with Lydia, the event’s host. They were a picture-perfect couple, their witty banter earning thunderous applause. Everyone was whispering what a perfect match they were. When the host teased them, Lydia basked in the attention, but Caleb shook his head. “My wife is actually here tonight,” he announced. A spotlight swung onto me, forcing me to my feet. Under the intense glare of the crowd, Caleb recounted the story of our five years together, a curated tale of struggles and affection, culminating in another heartfelt confession of his love for me. Beside him, Lydia’s smile tightened. After the speeches, they both approached me. “Mrs. Sterling, good to see you again,” Lydia said. Her tone was technically polite, but the formality was a deliberate jab. “I didn’t get a chance to catch up with you at the reunion. Caleb was so disappointed.” I offered a tight smile. “You’ve just returned, Ms. Vance. I’m sure you’re busy. If there’s anything you need, please let us know.” The rumor was that Lydia’s company was in financial trouble. She arched an eyebrow. “Actually, there is a small favor I’d like to ask.” Her gaze shifted to Caleb. “When I was abroad, my mother spoke of Caleb constantly. She’s fallen ill recently, and I was wondering if you might be free tonight?” Caleb’s expression was unreadable. “Tonight, I’m afraid…” “Caleb?” Lydia ignored me, her voice softening as she spoke his name. “You know how frail my mother is. She just wants to see you.” Her hand crept to his waist, a subtle, possessive touch. I looked at Caleb, then tightened my grip on the hand I was holding. He looked down, hesitated, then his gaze hardened. I felt the warmth in my palm slowly drain away until I was holding nothing but air. Without a word of explanation, he turned and walked away, the grand declaration of love from moments before dissolving like a scene from a play. “That’s a pretty flimsy excuse.” Liam had appeared out of nowhere, swirling the wine in his glass as he watched Caleb’s retreating figure. He clicked his tongue. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. It wasn’t the first time he’d abandoned me, so why did my stupid heart still ache? I snatched the glass from Liam’s hand and downed it in one go. “I’m buying you dinner tonight. You in?” 5 Liam agreed without hesitation. After the gala, we met at a restaurant. He’d changed into a wine-red silk shirt that, with his slightly wavy hair, looked incredibly charming. In the flickering candlelight, I let my words become dangerously playful. “I never realized you had such a flamboyant side,” I teased. He smiled sideways at me. “You used to have eyes only for Caleb. There was no room for anyone else.” “Was I that obvious?” He chuckled and pulled out his phone, opening his photo album. As he spoke, he swiped through picture after picture, presenting them like evidence. In each one, a younger me stared wistfully at Caleb’s back, a lonely outsider on the fringes of his life. The space between us shrank. The intoxicating scent of his cologne filled my senses. On impulse, I reached out and touched his face, so strikingly similar to Caleb’s. “Do you love me?” I whispered. A blush crept up his neck to the tips of his ears. He pulled back, popping a spicy pepper into his mouth. It was so hot his eyes started to water. He dodged the question. “Caleb can handle spice this intense?” I realized I’d crossed a line. I reined in my emotions and handed him a glass of water. “Oh, him? He can’t live without it.” “And you? Do you love it?” he asked, the question hanging in the air. “I mean, do you love spicy food?” I shook my head with a small smile. “What about sweets? Like cake? Cookies?” In high school, Caleb would sometimes give me things like that, little acts of charity. “I don’t mind them.” “You have to come over to my place sometime, then. Try my baking.” He looked at me, his smile as tempting as a dew-kissed rose. As if possessed, I heard myself agree. As we were leaving, he pointed to the bouquet of roses on the passenger seat of my car. “If no one wants those, can I have them?” He cradled the flowers with a look of pure contentment. “I remember, today is your fifth anniversary with Caleb.” A day that everyone else remembered. I felt a pang of guilt. “Sorry for dragging you into my drama tonight.” “I had a great time,” he said, holding up the roses. “It’s been a while since I got flowers.” “Doesn’t Lydia love sending flowers to men?” Liam gently stroked a petal. “She and I divorced two years ago,” he said quietly. “…That’s good,” I murmured, my eyes on the roses. “A one-sided marriage never lasts long.” He gave me a meaningful smile. “No, it doesn’t. And a one-sided love is always bound to be… vulnerable.” 6 I’d heard it said there are two moments of profound vulnerability in love. The first is when you’re consumed by a burning passion for someone, desperate to make them yours, chasing them with everything you have. The second is when you know they don't love you anymore, but you still can't let go. I spent six years in the first moment. I spent five years in the second. I presented the divorce agreement during a Sterling family dinner, right in front of Caleb’s parents. The two of them looked grave; Caleb, as usual, was a mask of cold indifference. He broke the silence by pulling me into the bedroom. “Do you really think this is amusing?” No. It wasn’t amusing at all. “You know my dad will never agree. Is being Vice President not enough for you anymore? Are you after my position, too?” “Caleb,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. “That year, in the alley… why did you help me?” He frowned. “And the donation money… it was from you, wasn't it? Why did you tell me it was a fundraiser?” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” It seemed he wouldn’t grant me even a sliver of warmth to hold onto. A lump formed in my throat. “I just want to know. In these five years, have you ever loved me? Even for a second, did you ever feel anything?” I knew it was a stupid, self-defeating question, but I needed an answer—either to soothe my soul or to finally kill it. His anger subsided, replaced by a complicated look. “The day we got our license, I made it very clear. We live our own lives. We don’t interfere with each other.” “Then why didn’t you bring that up when you were enjoying—exploiting—my care and devotion?” “That was your choice!” he snapped, pulling his hand away from mine. “You were the one who insisted! Am I supposed to be responsible for your one-sided obsession forever?” The cheapest things in the world, I realized, are the things freely given. A sincere heart that costs nothing. A gentle nature that achieves nothing. A love that never wavers. I laughed at myself, a bitter, hollow sound. But with the laughter came a surprising sense of release. “You gave me a chance to repay my debt. When we divorce, I won’t take a single thing.” I’d always refused to divorce him, partly because I still held onto a sliver of hope, and partly because his father wouldn’t let me go—five years ago, when Sterling Corp was on the brink of collapse, I had worked myself to the bone for over a year to bring it back. Now, the company was stable. The debt was repaid. And my love had been worn to nothing. “I told you, I’m the only one who can initiate a divorce.” He always had to have the upper hand. I had no energy left to argue. I turned to leave. “I’ll speak to your father about—” “Lydia’s pregnant!”

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