The morning of the convention, the clock was ticking down to doors-open, but I was still fumbling with the satin ribbons of my cosplay. I’d spent nearly an hour staring at the character poster, trying to replicate that perfect, gravity-defying bow, but my fingertips were slick with frustration and sweat. That’s when Daniel leaned over. He picked up the fallen ends of the ribbon, his hands moving with a practiced, fluid grace. In seconds, he’d turned the limp fabric into a crisp, voluminous bow. I caught his reflection in the mirror, my eyebrows climbing. “Since when did a software engineer learn how to do that?” He straightened up, giving me that easy, boyish smile I’d loved for seven years. “Anything for you, right?” I did a slow pirouette, admiring the silhouette, but Daniel frowned, tilting his head as he studied his handiwork. He muttered under his breath, “Wait… something still isn't right.” I stopped mid-turn and looked up at him, my voice barely a whisper. “What’s wrong with it?” 1 Daniel’s fingers twitched for a second, but he didn't answer. He just laughed it off, reaching out to ruffle my hair. “We’ve got to move, or you’re going to miss the opening ceremony. Weren't you dying to get a photo with that guest artist?” I stayed rooted to the spot, my eyes dropping to his hand as he gripped the strap of my gear bag. “You’ve tied that bow for someone else before, haven’t you?” The air in the room seemed to vanish for half a beat. The smile on his face didn't disappear, but it grew thin, brittle. I watched the slight movement of his throat as he swallowed before he bent down to pick up my prop staff. “What goes on in that head of yours, Jo?” he asked, his tone perfectly light. “Remember when I worked at that high-end gift wrap shop during grad school? I spent eight hours a day tying bows for rich ladies' Christmas hampers. I could tie these in my sleep back then. It’s muscle memory, that’s all.” It was a perfect explanation. Natural. Logical. I remembered that job. I used to bring him coffee while he worked behind a counter piled high with gold foil and velvet ribbon. He wasn’t lying about the experience. But as I stared at the bow on my hip, a cold, nagging sensation settled in the pit of my stomach. Something was off, but I couldn't put a finger on the shape of the wrongness. I watched him carefully pack my bag, making sure to include the portable charger, the cooling mist, and even a small clip-on fan because I’d complained once about how hot the convention halls get. “All set,” he said, checking his phone. “And I found that gourmet taco truck you wanted to try—it’s parked right by the north exit. We can hit it on the way out.” I forced a smile. That nameless anxiety felt silly in the face of such thoughtfulness. Maybe I was just projecting my own stress onto him. We made it just as the hall lights dimmed for the opening. This was the biggest fan expo the city had seen in years, and I’d been counting down the days for months. I was busy recording the stage on my phone when Daniel leaned in, whispering in my ear as the cosplayers began their walk. “That one’s from Elden Ring, right?” “And that’s the lead singer from Starry Skies!” He didn't miss a single one. Even when an obscure NPC from a niche indie game appeared, Daniel leaned over and whispered the character’s name and their specific backstory. The music was deafening, the crowd a sea of neon and joy, but my heart was sinking like a stone in deep water. Daniel is a classic tech guy. In our seven years together, he’d treated my hobbies with a sort of polite, distant tolerance. Usually, if I tried to get him to watch an anime with me on the couch, he’d be snoring by the second episode. The unease I’d tried to bury came roaring back. People don't just wake up one day with a PhD in a subculture they’ve ignored for a decade. I lowered my phone, my hands shaking slightly. I tried to keep my voice casual, as if we were just chatting. “When did you become such an expert? I don't even recognize half of these.” He rubbed the back of his neck, the tips of his ears turning a tell-tale shade of pink under the strobe lights. “You’re always saying I don't take an interest in what you love,” he said. “I’ve been following this one creator on YouTube who does deep dives into lore. I guess I’m a fast learner.” I bit my lip. “That’s a very thorough YouTuber.” His gaze flickered for a split second before he pulled me into his side, his arm heavy around my shoulders. “Honey, they’re a pro. I just wanted to be able to talk to you about this stuff. I wanted to be part of your world for once.” I didn't say anything else. I just nodded and let him hold me. The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of forced smiles. A question was taking root in my mind, growing thorns: Is he doing this because he loves me, or because he’s practicing for someone else? When the convention wrapped, Daniel—who usually hates crowds and street food—insisted on taking me to the night market nearby. I watched him order extra-spicy skewers, something he’s never been able to handle. He bought two cups of sickly sweet boba tea, even though he’s a black-coffee-only purist. That night, back at the hotel, he left his phone on the nightstand while he went to shower. An ad popped up on his screen from a shopping app—recommendations for three different floral perfumes. I have chronic allergies. I haven't worn perfume in seven years. In that single, quiet moment, the floor fell away. I knew. Daniel was seeing someone else. 2 When Daniel came out of the bathroom, he reached for me like he always did, his skin warm and smelling of hotel soap. I pulled away, instinctively. “I’m exhausted, Dan. My feet are killing me.” He didn't push. He just leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Goodnight, baby.” He was asleep within minutes. I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, replaying every bow he’d tied and every character name he’d whispered. After an hour of agonizing, I reached out and took his phone from the nightstand. He hadn't changed the passcode. I went through everything. Photos, texts, call logs—nothing. His Uber history showed only home and the office. His Venmo was just rent and split dinners with friends. It was a clean phone. Too clean. I felt a wave of relief so strong I almost cried. I was being paranoid. I was the crazy girlfriend. But as I went to put the phone back, a notification chimed. An app I didn't recognize—a boutique marketplace for handmade goods. I tapped it. The shop was called “Zoey’s Craft Haven.” It was a small-scale page, mostly custom cosplay commissions and accessories. On the surface, it looked like a dozen other shops. Then I saw the model in the featured banner. She was leaning against a brick wall, her hair grazing her collarbone, a playful, dimpled smile on her face. She was wearing the exact same costume I’d worn today. Using a reverse image search was easy. Within minutes, I found her social media. Her handle was @ZoeyNotTheZoo. Her bio read: Cosplayer/Artist. Commissions open. She was based in a city only two hours away from ours. I scrolled down to a pinned video. She was dressed as a cat-girl, lounging on a bed, posing for someone behind the camera. I was about to exit when I heard a voice from the speakers. “Baby, don't move. Just one more shot.” It was Daniel’s voice. That specific, indulgent tone he used when he was looking at something he adored. The exact same inflection he’d used with me for seven years. He even used the same nickname. The sound felt like a physical blow to my eardrums. My body began to tremble, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin. I closed my eyes and the images flooded in. Daniel holding her. Daniel kissing her—forehead, nose, lips. Daniel staying up late to help her sew a costume, learning the lore of her favorite shows so he could impress her. The tears came silently. I had thought we were the lucky ones. Seven years, and we were supposed to be the "happily ever after." But you can’t argue with a ghost in a video. I couldn't lie to myself anymore. 3 I spent the rest of the night like a masochist, scrolling through every post she had. Her name was Zoey. About six months ago, Daniel’s company had hired her cosplay troupe to do some promotional work for a product launch. That was the spark. At first, it looked professional. She mentioned him in a post, thanking "the lead engineer" for helping with the tech setup on stage. Daniel had been the same as always during that time—coming home for dinner, bringing me my favorite snacks, listening to me vent about my boss. He’d laugh at his phone sometimes, but he’d always say it was just "crap from the group chat." When did it change? Three months ago. She posted a photo of a hospital wristband at 2 AM. The caption: “Scary night with food poisoning, but thank God someone was there to drive me to the ER.” Daniel had been on a "business trip" in her city that weekend. Daniel stirred in his sleep, his hand reaching out blindly for mine. “Baby… come here…” I wiped my face, but the tears wouldn't stop. On his lock screen, our photo from last summer was still there. We looked so happy. But now, I didn't know which "baby" he was dreaming about. I couldn't wrap my head around it. We were high school sweethearts. He was the man who told every friend he ever had that he’d marry me. He was the man who stayed awake for three nights straight in a plastic chair when I had my appendix out. How does that man just… disappear? What choked me the most was that he was willing to learn a whole new world for her—a world he’d dismissed when it was mine. It was a jagged pill I couldn't swallow. I sat there until the sun began to peek through the hotel curtains. Then, I put his phone back, picked up mine, and booked two train tickets to Zoey’s city. When Daniel woke up, I told him I’d changed our plans. His smile faltered. “Why there? I thought we were going to the theme parks for your birthday? I spent a fortune on those express passes, Jo. You know how hard they are to get.” I held up my phone, cutting him off. “There’s a legendary artist doing a signing there. You know, the one I’ve talked about a million times? It’s a one-day-only thing.” He looked like he wanted to argue, so I added the finisher: “Plus, my mom really wanted me to pick up some of that specialty sourdough from the bakery there. You wouldn't mind, would you?” The tension in his shoulders bled out instantly. “Oh. Sure. It just caught me off guard.” He kept glancing at his pocket. There was a bulge there—a small, square box. I pretended not to see it as I urged him to pack. “Hurry up! I want to get there before the line gets crazy.” By the time we arrived in Zoey’s city, Daniel was glued to his phone. He kept checking his notifications, a small, secret smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Before we left the hotel, he helped me with my dress again. His movements were so practiced now, so effortless. “You’ve really mastered this,” I said, watching him in the mirror. “I’m a fast learner, remember?” “Right. Oh, by the way, I hired a local freelance assistant to help us at the signing. The lines are supposed to be brutal, so she’s going to meet us to help hold our spot.” “That’s my girl,” he said, kissing my temple. “Always thinking ahead. I’m looking forward to learning more about your scene.” I smiled. “Pay close attention, then.” After we bought the gifts for my parents, I led him to a themed cafe in the arts district. When Daniel saw the girl waiting at the corner table, the blood drained from his face so fast I thought he might faint. “Hi there,” I said, extending my hand with a bright, fake smile. “You must be Zoey?” 4 “Hi…” Zoey had been looking down, adjusting the lace on her skirt. When she looked up, her smile was radiant—until she saw Daniel standing behind me. She froze. The girl’s eyes began to well up almost instantly as they locked onto his. I kept my arm looped firmly through Daniel’s, tilting my head innocently. “Why are you guys looking at each other like that? Do you already know each other?” “No. No, we don't,” Daniel blurted out, his hands waving dismissively. Zoey’s eyes turned a deeper shade of red. The lunch was a masterclass in torture. Daniel sat there like he was in an electric chair, making every excuse to leave the table—to use the restroom, to check the parking meter, to take a "work call." Every time he left, Zoey’s phone would buzz with a text. I acted like I noticed nothing. I insisted on taking "cute" photos with Daniel, posing him so his arm was around me, making sure the flash on my camera was bright and obvious. Zoey’s composure was disintegrating. By the time our "commission" was over, her face was flushed. “Are you okay? You look like you have a fever,” I said with faux concern. She bit her lip, throwing a desperate glance at Daniel. He looked at the ceiling. Zoey looked down, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry. I’m just not feeling great today. I’ve ruined the mood. I’ll… I’ll give you a discount on the fee.” I smiled sweetly. “Don't worry about it. Your outfit is stunning, though. Can you send me the link to your shop?” She nodded, reaching for her phone to add me on social media. Daniel lunged forward, grabbing my wrist. “Jo, let’s go. This style isn't for you anyway. It’s a bit… juvenile, don't you think?” He practically dragged me out of the cafe. At the door, I turned back and waved at Zoey. “I’ll definitely be booking you again!” Daniel didn't say a word. He hailed a cab and basically shoved me inside. Seeing his face—the raw, panicked fury behind the mask—I felt a tiny, cold spark of satisfaction. By the time we got back to the hotel, Daniel had smoothed his features back into that "devoted boyfriend" look. I sat on the edge of the bed, chatting idly. “That girl today was so pretty. How old do you think she is?” “Younger than you,” he snapped. The air in the room turned to ice. Realizing his mistake, he cleared his throat. “I mean… she looked young. Just a guess.” “I see.” Daniel didn't want to talk anymore. He started rummaging through his suitcase for his pajamas, the sound of the zipper harsh and frantic in the quiet room. “Get some sleep,” he said, tucking me in with exaggerated care. “We have to be up early for the Stevensons' wedding tomorrow.” I closed my eyes. At midnight, I heard the rustle of clothes. The door opened a crack, a sliver of hallway light cutting across the carpet, and then clicked shut. I was alone. I opened my phone. Zoey had posted a new video thirty minutes ago. She was holding a wine glass, crying her eyes out. The caption was just one line: Even after all this, I still love you. Daniel had commented five minutes ago. “Wait for me.” I stared at those three words for a long time. Then I turned off the screen. Daniel didn't come back that night. I didn't sleep a wink. In the morning, he walked in carrying a bag of fresh pastries. He looked at me, dressed and ready, and forced a smile. “I went out early to get these. Your favorite—almond croissants from that place down the street.” He pressed the bag into my hands. I could smell a faint, unfamiliar perfume clinging to his collar. “By the way, baby,” he said, his voice dropping into that romantic register. “I have a huge surprise for you today.” I smiled back. “So do I.” 5 I’d known about his "secret" for a week. My best friend had been dropping hints about ring sizes. Daniel had been having "top secret" dinners with the groom. He’d been obsessively talking about our "journey" as a couple. Everything pointed to one thing. People think women are intuitive, but the truth is, we only miss the details when we choose to trust. Once the trust is gone, every detail is a scream. I put on my most flawless makeup. I wore my favorite dress. Daniel and I arrived at the wedding looking like the golden couple. He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “You look breathtaking today, Jo.” I looked at him in his custom suit and smiled. “You too.” “It’s a special day, after all,” he whispered. The Stevensons had been together for ten years. Watching them exchange vows, seeing that raw, honest happiness, actually made me cry. I was mourning a version of us that had already died. The bouquet toss was at the end of the night. The bride walked straight off the stage and pressed the flowers into my hands. The band shifted. They started playing “Our Song”—the one from our very first date. Suddenly, the giant projector screens in the ballroom flickered to life. It started with a slideshow of our life. Our college orientation. Our first shitty apartment. That sunset in Maine last summer. Seven years of us. I watched it all, tears streaming down my face. How could two people who loved each other this much end up here? The final slide was a photo of us on a pier, silhouettes against the orange sky. The text underneath read: Seven years was just the beginning. Will you give me forever? The room erupted. People were cheering, whistling, clapping. Every eye was on us. Daniel took a deep breath, his hands shaking as he dropped to one knee. He pulled a velvet box from his pocket, his eyes shining with what looked like pure, unadulterated devotion. “Joanna, will you marry me?” Time stopped. The whole world was waiting for me to say yes. I looked into his eyes—those eyes that had looked at Zoey the same way—and I let out a soft, jagged laugh. “Daniel,” I said, my voice carry across the silent room. “Which ‘baby’ are you asking right now?”
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