My wedding was just around the corner. I was scrolling through Pinterest, looking for wedding planning ideas, when a post caught my eye. It was a photo of a couple at the altar, their backs to the camera. The caption beneath it read: “The man I love has already pretended to marry me.” “So, no matter who he marries in the future, I’ll wish him well.” The moment I saw the groom’s familiar silhouette, my nine-year relationship shattered into a million pieces, lost in the digital ether. 1 When I found the post, I was supposed to be looking at venue decorations. My chat with my fiancé, Liam, was still open, our last exchange just five minutes old. I’d excitedly sent him a link to a wedding photographer’s portfolio. He’d replied: “Whatever you like, babe. I’m happy if you’re happy.” The smile was still on my lips when the photo filled my screen. The man in the tuxedo was tall and broad-shouldered. I knew that back better than my own. I didn’t need to see his face. It was Liam. My gaze shifted to the woman beside him. She was breathtaking in a mermaid-style gown that hugged her curves perfectly. She had her arm looped through his. They stood before the priest, a perfect couple, exchanging vows in a solemn, sacred ceremony. There were no guests, but the sanctity of the moment was palpable. The comment section was flooded with people gushing about how perfect they looked together. The top comment was a rallying cry: “You two are meant to be! Girl, why are you letting him marry someone else? Go get your man!” The blogger’s profile picture was a cat. I clicked on her page. It was completely blank, except for that one post. Using my burner account, “Momo,” I left a comment, my fingers moving as if guided by some unseen force. “Dying to hear the story behind this.” 2 Liam called a little later, asking to take me out for dinner. I pretended nothing was wrong. When I got in his car, he took one hand off the steering wheel and reached for mine. His brows furrowed when he felt my icy skin. “Your hands are freezing,” he said, his voice laced with concern. “Are you on your period? Are your cramps bad?” I gently pulled my hand from his grasp. “No,” I said, my voice flat. He turned up the heat and redirected the vents on my side away from me. A few moments later, his hand was back on mine. This time, a satisfied smile touched his lips. “There. That’s better.” My nails dug into my palms. We had been together for nine years. For nine years, he had treated me like I was the most precious thing in the world. The slightest frown from me and he’d be fussing, trying to figure out what was wrong. He even tracked my cycle more accurately than I did. His friends always joked that I had him completely wrapped around my finger. Liam, whose world supposedly revolved around me. And yet, right before our wedding, he had walked into a church with another woman and made the sacred vows that were meant for us. Who was she? And who was it that he truly wanted to marry? 3 We were in a private room at a Japanese restaurant. The image of him with that other woman was burned into my mind. While we waited for our food, I tried to sound casual. “What do you think about getting married at that old chapel on the West Side in Charleston? It’s supposed to be beautiful. I saw a lot of pictures of it online.” It was beautiful. A century-old church, grand and majestic, with stained-glass windows that stretched to a vaulted ceiling. To stand there would be like stepping into a dream. That’s why the photo, paired with her caption, had gone viral overnight. His hand, which had been pouring me tea, paused. “Charleston’s a bit far, don’t you think? If you want a church wedding, we can find a nice one here.” It was the first time since we started planning the wedding that he had ever said no to one of my ideas. Beneath the table, I twisted the hem of my shirt in my hands. Before we had even finished our meal, my Pinterest notifications had hit 99+. My comment had over five hundred likes and had been pushed to the top. The blogger had finally replied. “Okay, I’ll post our story tonight.” 4 I closed the app and looked up at him. He was staring at his phone, a soft, happy smile on his face. My heart seized. On pure instinct, I lunged across the table and snatched the phone from his hand. He was watching the video from his proposal a year ago. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by an amused grin. “What’s this? We’re about to get married, and you’re already doing surprise inspections?” His passcode was my birthday. My fingerprint was saved in his phone. He left it lying around when he showered. He was so open, so transparent, that I’d never had a reason to doubt him. He was calm now because he was certain there was nothing incriminating on that phone for me to find. I forced a laugh. “I just wanted to watch the video again.” “Silly,” he said gently. “You have a copy on your phone, remember? You said you wanted to show it to our kids when we’re old.” The promise of growing old together still echoed in my ears, but a chasm had just opened up in our relationship. 5 I watched the video anyway. The one he’d personally edited for the proposal. It was a montage of our nine years together. Our high school graduation photo, where he’d switched places with a classmate to stand behind me. I remembered that day perfectly. He had leaned down, his voice uncharacteristically nervous for someone so confident, and asked if I wanted to be his girlfriend. “Don’t turn around,” he’d said. “I’m afraid you’ll say no.” The summer wind had brushed against our young faces. The photographer had counted down, “Three, two, one, say cheese!” And at the exact moment the shutter clicked, with my back still to him, I had said yes. We both went to college in the same state, but our campuses were two hours apart. He made the four-hour round trip constantly, just to see me for a few minutes. After we finished our master’s degrees, he proposed. In front of all our friends and family, he had kissed me and said he’d been waiting for that day for eight years. I tried to watch with a cold heart, but by the end, my eyes were wet. Nine years was a long time. We had both loved so fiercely, so completely. All this time, I thought his journey had been as single-minded as mine. But now, standing at the threshold of marriage, I realized his path had taken a detour. The thought was a dull, throbbing ache in my chest. In the tapestry of our shared memories, when had he found the space to weave in someone else? Seeing my tears, he wrapped his hand around mine. “You’re such a crybaby. You cry every time you watch this.” “I’m not letting you watch it anymore.” My hand trembled in his. I was afraid. Afraid of the truth that was about to be revealed. Afraid that nine years of my life were about to go up in flames. 6 When we got home, he went to his study to work. I sat in the living room, my hands shaking as I opened the Pinterest app. She had kept her promise. A new post had appeared. “A seventeen-year-old’s crush, finally fulfilled at twenty-nine.” I read her long, rambling story, word by word. The pieces started to fall into place. It was Sienna Vance. A girl from the class next to ours in high school who’d had a massive crush on Liam. During our freshman year of college, Sienna, who was going to school in Charleston, had come all the way to our campus to confess her feelings to Liam. He had been completely blindsided. He’d gently turned her down, telling her he had a girlfriend. He had told me about it at the time. What I never knew was that the story didn’t end there. Her crush hadn’t just lingered. It had blossomed. 7 The turning point came last year, when Liam did a year-long fellowship at a prestigious hospital in Charleston. By some cruel twist of fate, Sienna worked at that same hospital. They were colleagues in the same department. He had never mentioned this to me. One day, after being berated by a patient’s family, she was crying in her office. Liam saw her, pulled up a chair, and started telling her jokes to cheer her up. Through her tears, Sienna had leaned in and kissed him. In her post, she wrote: “He closed his eyes. He opened his mouth. And in that moment, my long-dormant crush bloomed in the dust.” A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. I dug my nails into my palms and forced myself to keep reading. They had laid out the ground rules from the start. He had a girlfriend. They were serious. He was going to marry me when he came back. She didn’t ask for anything more. All she wanted was one year with him. “We made a pact,” she wrote. “A one-year love affair. When the year was up, I would walk away without a fight.” 8 And so, their affair began. This is how she described their life together: “I never thought I would one day be living with the man I had crushed on for so long. We cooked together, watched movies together. We hugged, we kissed, we did everything a couple does.” “He seems so refined and composed, but when he lets go, he covers every inch of me with his touch, in every room of our apartment.” “I finally felt like he wasn’t just a distant dream anymore. He was right there, beside me, tangible.” “Whenever he called her, I would quietly leave the room so I wouldn’t disturb them. Hearing him say sweet things to her always hurt. But later, in the heat of the moment, he would whisper the same words in my ear, and then nothing else mattered.” When the year was up, he ended it. She had only one request. She wanted a fake wedding in that beautiful old church, a perfect, final chapter to their story. She promised she would cherish that year in her heart and never bother him again. He agreed. She wrote that after the ceremony, they had made love all night. Her words were a physical weight, crushing me. “That night, it was our last. We knew there was no tomorrow for us, so we loved each other until the sun came up.” “For the first time ever, he didn’t answer her call. He just wanted me one more time.” “That was my real wedding night.” 9 I sat on the sofa, my entire body trembling. I couldn’t stop replaying that year in my head. Every text he sent, every call he made from their love nest. The same mouth that kissed her day and night telling me he missed me, that he loved me. Every day that I thought our relationship was solid, he was living a double life. No wonder. No wonder he never wanted me to visit. He always said he didn’t want me to tire myself out with the travel. Instead, he would surprise me with sudden visits. All that thoughtful consideration was just a cover. And she, shameless and selfish, had reveled in their secret, sordid affair. They were disgusting. Both of them. I grabbed the pair of matching mugs from the coffee table, raised them high, and smashed them onto the floor. Shards of ceramic scattered everywhere. A perfect metaphor for my nine years. A bloody, mangled corpse. The noise startled Liam. The study door flew open, and he rushed over, his face etched with concern. He grabbed my hands, inspecting them carefully. “What happened? Are you hurt?” I snatched my hand back and slapped him across the face, hard. “Liam, we’re done.” “I don’t want a second-hand, cheating bastard.”
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