My buddy asked me once, after you cheat, do you still have feelings for your wife? I had to really think about it. How do you explain it? It’s not like there’s nothing there. After all, for the longest time, we were family. But if you ask if I’m still deeply in love with her… then no, that’s gone. I thought I’d finally figured out the true nature of marriage. Until one day, on a crowded street, I saw her laughing with another man. 1 I was on the balcony, slowly letting a smoke ring dissolve into the cold air, just about to answer Cole’s question when my phone buzzed. It was my wife, Yara. “What’s up, honey?” I kept my voice warm and gentle. She giggled before she even spoke. “Haha, Sean, when are you coming home? Gizmo learned how to do a backflip! You have to see it!” I smiled back into the phone. “Alright, I’ll be home soon. You in the mood for some of those caramel-glazed chestnuts from downtown? I can swing by and grab some.” “Yes, please!” “So, what’s the vibe for tonight? Starfall Dynasty or Midnight Bloom?” We hung up in a fit of cheerful laughter. When I turned back, Cole was staring at me, a blank, dazed look on his face. I just smirked. I wasn’t surprised. He’d just clawed his way through a brutal divorce battle with his wife over his mistress. The whole ordeal had skinned him alive, and now they were mortal enemies. And then there was me and Yara. The picture of a perfect couple, sickeningly sweet. Four years of marriage hadn't led to the usual boredom; if anything, we seemed stronger, more deeply connected than ever. The truth is, I’d always been good to her. But after I started cheating, I became even better. By anyone’s standards, she was an enviably happy woman, living a charmed life. Cole nudged me with his chin. “Hey, you still haven’t answered my question.” I shook my head with a sigh, tapping the ash from my cigarette. “Let me put it this way,” I said. “When you touch your own hand, do you feel anything?” “Feel what? It’s just my hand.” I took a long drag, my eyes narrowing at the snow-dusted skyline in the distance. “That’s how it is with Yara now,” I said slowly. “Touching her is like touching my own hand. But if that hand got hurt… I’d feel the pain just as sharply.” Cole blinked. “And that’s your excuse for being with Celeste?” I shot him a serious, warning look. “Celeste is a proud woman. Don’t you ever, ever say something like that in front of her.” 2 I don’t think of myself as some kind of monster. Even though I slept with Celeste while I was married. Some things in this world… they just don’t go the way you plan. A year ago, at our high school reunion, I ran into Celeste—the girl I’d secretly worshipped from afar all those years ago. The moment I saw her, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The Celeste I remembered was radiant, untouchable. From a wealthy family, top of her class. For a guy like me, still wrestling with the awkward, insecure shadows of adolescence, she was a goddess, an impossible dream. But the woman I saw that day had been completely reshaped by life. She looked worn-down, gaunt, and haunted. The lines around her eyes and mouth were drawn tight, a permanent defense etched by years of hardship and struggle. An ache bloomed in my chest. It was like watching the moon you once prayed to fall from the heavens, crashing into the dirty, mundane world. Its light was gone, its surface covered in dust. As the reunion wound down, everyone was gathered around my new car. Celeste murmured, “That must’ve cost, what, sixty, seventy thousand?” Someone next to her scoffed. “Are you kidding? That’s a hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar car. Sean’s a regional director now, he’s made it. This isn’t high school anymore.” A flush crept up her neck, and she pressed her lips into a thin, hard line. “It’s not that much, don’t listen to them,” I said quickly. She glanced at me, her face a rigid mask, then turned and walked away without so much as a goodbye. As the crowd buzzed with chatter, I pieced together the story of her lost years. Her family’s business went bankrupt while she was in college, their fortune vanishing overnight. After graduation, she married the wrong man—a violent drunk. During one of their fights, he ended up dead. She sold everything she had to cover legal fees and restitution, but still ended up in prison. Now divorced, she was raising their four-year-old son, Leo, alone in a cramped rental, scraping by selling insurance policies. “She never used to come to these things,” someone commented. “Guess she was hoping to drum up some business. Nothing wrong with trying to make a living, but with that attitude, who’s going to bother?” Two weeks later, Celeste called me out of the blue, asking if I needed a commercial insurance plan. Yara, who works in the bancassurance division at her bank, had already set me up with full coverage years ago. I could hear the disappointment in Celeste’s voice, so I passed along a few of my friends’ numbers. To thank me, she invited me to dinner. I accepted. Not long after, her son came down with a high fever during a blizzard. She couldn't get a cab and called me in a panic. Naturally, I dropped everything to help. After that, it became a casual thing. She’d cook something nice and have me over. Her son, Leo, started calling me “Uncle Sean,” clinging to my leg whenever I was about to leave. One night, a heavy snowstorm rolled in, and I was stuck at her place. We’d both had a couple of glasses of wine. After Leo was asleep, she got up and went into the bedroom. A moment later, she called my name. I walked in. She was sitting on the edge of the bed in a sheer, revealing nightgown, her eyes red-rimmed as she looked up at me. She bit her lip. “Sean,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I don’t have any other way to thank you. If you don’t mind… this is all I have to offer.” I was so flustered I turned to leave, stammering, “Celeste, I… I never expected you to… repay me. We’re old friends. It’s what friends do.” A low, melancholic sigh came from behind me. “I remember in class,” she said, her voice laced with sorrow, “you used to pretend you were sleeping, but you were always watching me. I know. I know I’m not what I used to be.” “If you’re worried about anything,” she continued, her voice gaining a desperate edge, “don’t be. I’m never getting married again. I would never, ever destroy your family. I just want… this. Right now.” The snow swirled furiously outside the window, a world away from the charged silence of the room. Suddenly, I turned around and lunged for her. 3 I got home late that night. As I pulled up to our building, I saw a small, bundled-up figure standing in the snow, peering down the street. It was Yara. When she saw my car, she let out a visible sigh of relief and came jogging towards me, her steps clumsy in the deep snow, a huge grin on her face. “Sean! Any later and you would’ve come home to a wife-sicle!” I had a lot of work events, so she never questioned where I’d been. She just unwound her own scarf, wrapped it snugly around my neck, and beamed. “Considering you made it home in one piece through this blizzard, I, your magnanimous ruler, will forgive you for not answering your phone.” That night, the bitter cold masked the stiffness of my body and the frozen expression on my face. … I adapted quickly to this new rhythm in my life. Celeste had a flexible schedule, and I often spent my afternoons visiting our various branch locations, so my absence from the office wasn’t unusual. We had plenty of time and places to meet. Even with her changed circumstances, Celeste carried herself with an air of pride, at least around me. Or maybe she just knew that was the version of her I was obsessed with. It reminded me of how she used to be. Cole, my best friend and old classmate, didn’t get it. “Look, Celeste was a knockout back in the day, I get it,” he’d said. “But now? She can’t hold a candle to Yara.” He didn’t understand. They say you spend your whole life chasing the one thing you couldn’t have as a kid. Celeste was that impossible thing. And now, she was beneath me. The thought filled me with an intoxicating, almost primal satisfaction every time we were together. She refused to take my money, saying it made her feel cheap. So, I found other ways to help. I referred friends and colleagues who needed insurance. I used her phone number to prepay for services at various stores. I’d pass on expensive gifts I received from clients. No matter how you looked at it, Celeste’s presence in my life felt like the ultimate testament to my success. I was a man who had it all. I never considered divorce. Yara and I were a perfect match. Our home was my sanctuary—a happy, stable life that I cherished. Being with her was easy; she was cheerful and easily contented. Around her, I felt relaxed, confident, alive. Besides, I’d made a promise at her mother’s deathbed. I swore I would always love her, always be good to her. And for years, I had been. As for the pain my affair could cause her? I’d thought it all through. She would only suffer if she knew. If she never found out, then there was no actual harm done, was there? If anything, life would be better for her. I was already providing for her every material and emotional need. Now, weighed down by a sliver of guilt, I was doubling my efforts, treating her better than ever before. And it was working. Our relationship was stronger now than it had ever been. 4 Every year on my birthday, Yara took the day off. She’d start her preparations in the morning, driving ten miles to the city’s best seafood market for the freshest ingredients. She’d spend the entire day washing, chopping, simmering, and frying, all in anticipation of the lavish feast that would be waiting for me when I got home from work. And I’d do my part, clearing my schedule to get home early. We’d finish the last bits of cooking together, laughing and talking before settling in for our celebratory dinner. But this year, Celeste called. “Can I be the one to celebrate your birthday with you?” she asked. I hesitated for two seconds, then said yes. For the past six months, Celeste had been true to her word. She hadn't made a single unreasonable demand. In fact, after each of our trysts, she would meticulously check my clothes, my skin, making sure there were no stray hairs, no lingering scent of her perfume. I figured she must be feeling sidelined. It was understandable. Yara and I had every day together. A lifetime of days. We could celebrate countless birthdays. Missing one wouldn’t matter. I called Yara, telling her I had a last-minute dinner with some city officials and would be home late. Over the sound of sizzling oil, she asked, “Okay, what time do you think you’ll be back?” I thought for a moment. “Around seven.” “Got it!” Seven seemed reasonable. But that day, the moment I stepped into Celeste’s apartment, she was on me, kissing me with a fierce, desperate hunger. She’d sent Leo to a friend’s house and was wearing a provocative, see-through dress. She was bolder, wilder than I’d ever seen her. In bed, it was like she was trying to devour me whole. She used every trick she knew, pushing us both to the limit, again and again. When I finally drifted back to consciousness from a heavy, sated sleep, I glanced at my phone. It was already 11 PM. A jolt of panic shot through me, and I scrambled to get dressed. Celeste suddenly wrapped herself around me from behind, nipping my shoulder gently. Her eyes welled with tears as she whispered, “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have kept you this long today.” Her vulnerability made me feel guilty all over again. I finished dressing and soothed her. “In a little while, I’ll take you away for a few days. Just us. We’ll be like a real husband and wife. You can call me your husband, and I’ll do anything you want.” She laughed through her tears. “You and your silver tongue.” On the drive home, I assumed Yara would already be in bed. She was a creature of habit: asleep by eleven, up by seven, every single day. But when I walked in, I found her slumped over the dining table, fast asleep. The table was a feast, covered with elaborate dishes, fresh flowers, and a birthday cake. I checked my reflection in the entryway mirror to make sure there were no tell-tale signs, then walked over and gently shook her awake. Yara looked up at me, her eyes bleary with sleep. It took her a second to register who I was, and then her face split into a wide grin. “Honey, happy birthday!” My lips thinned. “Why were you sleeping out here?” She yawned. “Well, you said you’d be home at seven, and it’s your birthday, so of course I was going to wait for you. But I didn’t want to bother you while you were with city officials… I guess I just dozed off.” “You haven’t eaten?” The question came out sharper than I intended. “I tasted so much while I was cooking, I’m not even hungry,” she said with a cheerful wave of her hand. Looking at her, a strange, baseless anger surged inside me. “Are you crazy?” I snapped. “If I’m not home by this time, it obviously means I’ve already eaten out! Why wouldn’t you just eat by yourself?” Yara froze, her smile faltering. After a few seconds, she asked quietly, “What’s wrong?” I instantly realized how I sounded. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I’m just… tired today. I’m going to bed.” I fled to the bedroom like a coward. As I lay in bed, trying to make sense of my own bizarre emotions, I heard a rustle behind me. A warm body pressed against my back. “Honey, I’m sorry,” Yara whispered. “I know you were just worried about me going hungry. I promise next time, I’ll eat when I’m supposed to. Did something bad happen at your dinner tonight? Do you want to do something… fun… to take your mind off it?” This was our little ritual. If one of us was down, stressed out from work, or just in a bad mood, the other would initiate. It was a small, tender comfort we offered each other. I knew my anger was completely out of line, and her gentle gesture was the olive branch I needed. I started to turn towards her. But maybe it was exhaustion from my time with Celeste, or maybe it was something else entirely. I just… couldn’t perform. Nothing was happening. The more I tried, the more anxious I got, and the worse it became. “Let’s just sleep,” I muttered, my voice tight with frustration. Yara, thinking I was still sulking, started playfully tickling me. Something in me snapped. I let out a low growl. “Stop it! For God’s sake, have some dignity!” Yara’s hand froze mid-air. In the dim light of the bedroom, her eyes were wide with shock as she stared at me. 5 Yara was angry. The next morning, she left for work without a word. In all the years I’d known her, I could barely remember a time she’d been truly angry. We met six years ago at a charity event. I was captivated by the easy grace and confidence she projected while speaking on stage. I pursued her relentlessly. The more I got to know her, the more I discovered. She and her mother had faced incredible hardship, but Yara had cultivated a spirit of pure sunshine. Optimistic, generous, forgiving, and content with the simple things. She was almost always happy. To her, life’s obstacles were just “mini-bosses you have to beat before you can level up.” Sprained her ankle? “Guess the universe is telling me to take a break. Better listen!” Purse got stolen? “Awesome! Now I have an excuse to buy a new one!” I grew up in a tense, stifling household. Even after achieving some professional success, I was wound tight, always on edge. Being with her taught me how to finally unwind. How to appreciate a flower, how to watch the clouds drift by. How to accept myself. I bought a massive bouquet and went to pick her up from the bank, much to the amusement of her colleagues. When she saw me, she walked over, her lips pressed together, saying nothing. I theatrically slapped my own face. “It’s this stupid mouth’s fault! It deserves a beating! Honey, you want to take a swing?” She didn’t move. I made a grand gesture of getting down on one knee, which finally made her rush forward to stop me. A snort of laughter escaped her. “Fine. I’ll add it to your tab.” “I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me!” I grinned. She was quiet for a second, then looked at me, her expression serious. “Sean. This is a one-time thing. Don’t let it happen again.” I nodded like a bobblehead, and finally, her smile returned. The incident was quickly forgotten. Life went back to normal. A few days later, a massive blizzard hit the city, and the temperature plummeted. My chronic pharyngitis flared up. Yara announced she’d managed to get an appointment with a renowned traditional medicine specialist, famous for treating persistent throat issues. She was going to pick up my prescription the next day. The clinic was far, she said, and asked if I could drive her. I hesitated. Celeste’s son, Leo, had slipped on the ice and twisted his ankle. With the snow making travel impossible, I’d been driving them to and from his school and appointments. “If you’re busy, it’s fine. I can just get a cab,” Yara said breezily. I seized the opening. “That’s probably for the best. I have an important meeting tomorrow that’s going to take up the whole day.” The next day, I picked up Celeste and Leo. She mentioned he had a physical therapy session at a specialist’s clinic. The snow had started falling again, thick and heavy. When I pulled up to the clinic, a small, unassuming building, I was surprised to see a long line of people snaking out the door. I parked the car and was about to get out when I saw her. Near the back of the line stood Yara. She was bundled up in her thickest coat, her neck buried in her scarf, blowing on her hands to keep them warm. A fine layer of snow dusted her hair and shoulders. She’d clearly been standing out there for a long time. Celeste froze. “What is she doing here?” she whispered. My brow furrowed. I glanced in the rearview mirror. The alley was too narrow to turn around easily. “Don’t get out yet,” I said, thinking fast. “The sound of the door will make her look over, and she might recognize the car. Let’s wait until she’s inside.” Celeste bit her lip, silent. After a moment, she murmured, a bitter edge to her voice, “I’m just taking my son to the doctor. Why do I feel like I’m sneaking around?” I didn’t answer. I just sat there in the heated car, watching Yara shiver in the biting wind. She always hated the cold. At this rate, it would be another forty minutes before she got inside. Half an hour later, Celeste’s patience wore out. “If we wait any longer, we’re going to miss his appointment.” And then, she opened the car door and got out, holding Leo. Thump. The sound of the door closing echoed in the quiet alley. Instinctively, Yara turned her head, her gaze sweeping towards the sound. Her eyes landed first on Celeste, then slowly drifted to the car. A flicker of confusion crossed her face, which was red with cold. The next second, our eyes met. Hers and mine. A silent, staring match through the windshield of my car. And in that frozen moment, everything shattered.
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