Chapter 3

Our paths had diverged after college. David went to a top business school in the US, chasing ambition and success. I stayed home, pursuing my passion for architecture, a field that was slower, more deliberate, and less glamorous. We kept in touch, but the connection frayed with time and distance.

When he came back, our parents, ever the pragmatists, pushed us together. They saw a perfect union: the Hayes tech fortune and the Miller family's real estate influence. A power couple in the making. We didn't object. It seemed logical. Safe. We were lonely in our own ways, and it was easier to agree than to fight. So we got married.

Now, sitting in this cold hotel room, the logic of it all felt like a trap.

David slammed his laptop shut. "I'm going to get some air."

He grabbed his room key and walked out, the door closing with a definitive click behind him. He didn't look back. He didn't ask if I was okay. He just left.

I was alone again, but this time it felt different. It wasn't just physical distance; it was a vast, emotional wasteland. My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A notification from a social media app.

Sarah Jenkins has sent you a friend request.

My breath caught in my throat. Why? Why would she do this? It was a power move, a deliberate intrusion. My finger hovered over the 'Accept' button. A part of me wanted to ignore it, to block her, to pretend she didn't exist. But a stronger, colder part of me needed to know. I pressed 'Accept'.

Almost instantly, a message popped up. It wasn't from her personal account, but from a different, anonymous-looking one.

I think you deserve to see this.

Below the text was a series of screenshots. They were from a chat conversation between her and David.

My hands started to shake as I clicked on the first image.

David: God, this investor meeting is dragging on forever. I'd rather be anywhere else.

Sarah: Anywhere? ;)

David: Anywhere with you. Maybe that little Italian place we found last week?

Sarah: Mmm, I could go for their tiramisu. And you. But you have a wife to entertain tonight, don't you?

David: It's not like that. It's an obligation.

Obligation. The word was a punch to the gut. I scrolled to the next screenshot. It was a picture of them, their heads close together, smiling at a celebratory dinner. The caption David had posted in his private moments feed read: Couldn't have closed the deal without this one. #TeamAwesome

I was never on his team. I wasn't even on the bench.

Another screenshot.

Sarah: She's... not what I expected.

David: What did you expect?

Sarah: I don't know. Someone more... polished? She seems nice. In a plain sort of way.

David: It's a convenient marriage, Sarah. You know that. It's not about passion.

Sarah: So what are we about?

David: You and me? We're about everything else.

Everything else. That's what they were. And I was... nothing. The convenient, plain wife. The obligation.

I kept scrolling, my vision blurring with tears. There were pictures of them at concerts I wanted to go to, at restaurants he'd told me he was too busy to try, celebrating milestones he had never even mentioned to me. He had a whole life here, a vibrant, happy life that I had no part in. His sharing, his vulnerability, his joy-it wasn't gone, it had just been redirected to her.

The gentle, encouraging man I thought I had married didn't exist. Or if he did, he was a version of himself he only showed to Sarah. The praise he had once given me for my mind, he now gave her for her ambition. The tenderness I craved, he gave to her freely.

I clicked on Sarah' s public profile. It was filled with pictures of her at industry events, looking glamorous and intelligent. In the comments, people praised her, calling her "brilliant" and "the real brains behind David Hayes." There were even pictures of her with David's parents, the four of them looking like a happy family at a charity gala I hadn't been invited to. They were all smiling.

They had replaced me. And no one had even bothered to tell me. The marriage wasn't just crumbling, it had been a ruin for a long, long time. I was just the last one to see the rubble.

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