We had been together for seven years. Yet, I had never once appeared on his social media. Whenever I asked, Ethan would tell me he just wasn’t a social media person. He told me not to overthink it. I believed him. Even though it left a bitter taste in my mouth, I never brought it up again. Until that night. His phone lit up on the nightstand. I caught a fleeting glimpse of a notification—someone had liked his Instagram post. Once he fell asleep, I picked up his phone. My heart shattered. He didn’t hate social media. He had a private Instagram account with hundreds of posts. He had blocked my main account, and my burner, from ever seeing it. Every single one of those hundreds of posts featured the same girl. Dates, road trips, birthdays—she was in all of them. The latest post was uploaded just today. The caption read: *Happy 3rd Anniversary, my love.* In the comments, someone asked, *”Three years of marriage and still this sweet?”* Ethan replied: *”Forever and always.”* They got married three years ago. But he and I? We had been together for seven years. I stared at the screen for a long time. Then, I placed the phone back on the nightstand. I didn’t sleep at all that night. When the sun came up, Ethan woke up. As usual, he leaned in to kiss me. I turned my head away. “Ethan, let’s break up.”
His lips brushed against my hair. He froze for a second, then chuckled. “What’s wrong, babe? Did you have a bad dream?” I said nothing. He reached out to cup my cheek, but I flinched away again. His hand hung awkwardly in the air before he slowly drew it back. He sat up, squinting at me in the morning light. “Are you mad at me?” His voice was soft, laced with that familiar tenderness. “Is it because I came home late last night? The emergency board meeting ran late. I really couldn’t get out of it.” I remained silent. He leaned closer, searching my eyes, and suddenly smiled. “Oh, I get it. Did you read some stupid relationship advice on TikTok again?” He ruffled my hair, treating me like a spoiled child. “Come on, stop overthinking. I’ll leave work early today and take you to that fancy sushi place you’ve been dying to try, okay?” His tone was so natural. So full of affection. For seven years, he had always been like this. If I was angry, he would coax me. If I was sad, he would make me laugh. Whatever I wanted, he never said no. That was why I had never doubted him. That was why I believed every single lie that came out of his mouth. “Ethan,” I spoke, my voice raspy and unrecognizable. “Yeah, babe?” “You and her… when did you two meet?” The smile on his face slowly stiffened. “Who are you talking about?” His voice tightened, but he forced a laugh. “What ‘her’?” He was still acting. I looked at him. This was the face I had loved for seven years, yet it suddenly felt like looking at a complete stranger. “Your Instagram,” I said. “The private account. The one with hundreds of posts. The one I was blocked from.” His face went completely pale. “The girl. The one you call your wife. The one you just celebrated a three-year anniversary with.” His lips parted, but no sound came out. “Seven years, Ethan.” My voice began to tremble. “I never once checked your phone. Because you said relationship boundaries and trust were important to you, and I believed you. You said you didn’t care about social media, and I believed you. You said you’d introduce me to your parents when we were financially ready, and I believed you. You said you wanted to enjoy our twenties before getting married, and I believed that too.” Tears finally broke free, hot and heavy down my face. “I believed everything you said.” Panic finally set in. He lunged forward to hug me, but I pushed him away with all my strength. “Clara, listen to me,” he pleaded, his words jumbled and frantic. “It’s not what you think. It was an arranged marriage. My parents forced me. They threatened to cut me off, to disown me, they even faked a medical emergency… I had no choice…” I stared at him, my heart turning to ice. “You had no choice?” I repeated his words, tasting the venom in them. “So your parents forced you to marry her? Forced you to take her out on dates, go on romantic trips, and celebrate her birthdays? Did they also force you to post hundreds of pictures showing off how much you love her on social media?” ### Chapter
2 Ethan’s face flushed red, then drained of color again. “I accepted that you couldn’t introduce me to your parents,” I said, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “But why did you lie to me for seven years?” “Clara…” “You said you didn’t have a habit of posting.” I cut him off. “Then what were those hundreds of posts?” He opened his mouth, but no words came out. I grabbed his phone from the nightstand, unlocked it, pulled up his private Instagram grid, and shoved it in front of his face. “Did your parents force you to post these, too?” His fingers twitched, wanting to grab the phone back, but I held onto it. “Tell me, Ethan.” I locked my eyes onto his. “What was I to you during these seven years?” I threw the phone back onto his chest. “Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t care anymore.” I slid out of bed. My legs felt like jelly, and I had to steady myself against the nightstand for a second. He immediately got up and tried to grab my arm. “Clara, please don’t be like this. Let’s sit down and talk.” “I’m going to work.” “You can’t go to work in this state. Let me call your boss and get you a sick day.” “No need.” I grabbed my purse and walked out the door. He kept calling my name behind me, but I never looked back. The moment the elevator doors slid shut, I collapsed against the wall and finally let out a sob. I sat on a bench in the park near my office building for hours. My phone buzzed incessantly. Ethan was calling, but I didn’t answer. His messages on Snapchat kept popping up: *Clara, where are you?* *Don’t scare me like this.* *I am so, so sorry.* *Please come back, let’s talk.* *I swear I will handle this.* *Clara, I’m begging you.* I silenced my phone and opened my chats with my mom. Just last week, she had sent me a message: *Clara, sweetheart, what did Ethan say? When are our families going to meet? You’re not getting any younger, it’s time to settle down.* My reply had been: *Mom, he’s just really busy with work. Let’s wait until this quarter is over.* My mom had replied: *Alright, alright. You know best. I just worry about you living out there all by yourself. It’s not easy, but having someone who truly cares for you makes all the difference.* *Someone who truly cares for me.* Oh, Ethan certainly cared. He tracked my period better than I did. He would wake up in the middle of the night to prep a heating pad and make me hot cocoa. He would stand in line for half an hour every Saturday morning just to get my favorite pastries. I ended up calling in sick to work and went back to my apartment. I sat on the couch until late afternoon. Ethan’s messages were still flooding my phone, but I was too drained to even read them. Around four, my phone rang. It wasn’t Ethan. It was a delivery guy. “Is this Clara Davis? I have a package for you. Are you home?” “Yes, I am.” The delivery guy handed me a medium-sized, heavy box. I checked the sender. It was Amazon. I opened it. Inside was a sleek black box containing the latest iPhone model. During dinner a few days ago, I had offhandedly mentioned that the new iPhone’s camera looked amazing. He had looked at me and said nothing. He was always like that. He never said much, but he would quietly get things done. That was why I had never doubted him. How could a man who woke up early every Saturday to buy me breakfast be a liar? How could a man who stayed up to hold a heating pad against my back be a scammer? How could a man who remembered every single little thing I liked and never said no to me be a fraud? Yet, that was exactly how he had fooled me for seven years. After a long time, I took out my phone and called the delivery driver back. “Hi, about the package you just dropped off. I got the wrong item. Can I return it?” “As long as it’s unopened, yes. You can just request a return on the app.” “Okay, thank you.” I taped the box back up. Just then, the front door unlocked. Ethan stood in the doorway, panting, sweat dripping from his forehead. He must have run up the stairs. It was a five-story walk-up. Seeing me, he let out a massive sigh of relief, leaning against the doorframe to catch his breath. “Clara.” He walked in, his voice strained. “You scared the hell out of me.” I didn’t move. He dropped to his knees in front of me, looking up at me with bloodshot eyes. “I know I messed up, Clara. I shouldn’t have lied to you. I shouldn’t have kept this from you. But I swear, I don’t love her. My parents forced me into it. They threatened to cut me off, they threatened their own lives… I really had no choice…” ### Chapter
3 “You had no choice?” “I swear, Clara! You are the only one in my heart. She and I have absolutely nothing. It’s just a paper marriage. Once things settle down with my parents, I’ll divorce her. Just give me some time, okay?” I looked at his face, at his pleading eyes. We had been together for seven years. “You’ve been married to her for three years,” I said quietly. His expression froze. “Three years, Ethan. Not three months, not three days. Three years. During those three years, you had a million chances to tell me the truth. But you didn’t.” “Clara…” “Does she even know I exist?” He fell silent, reaching out to grasp my hand. I pulled away. “Clara, please, just give me one more chance. I swear I’ll fix this. I’ll ask her for a divorce tomorrow.” “Ethan,” I interrupted, “do you love her?” He was stunned. “When you posted those pictures on Instagram, when you wrote those captions, what were you thinking? When you went out to dinner, traveled, and celebrated birthdays with her, were you happy? When you called her your wife, how did it feel?” His lips trembled. I stood up, grabbed a suitcase from the closet, and walked into the bedroom. Ethan rushed in to stop me. “Clara, please don’t leave.” “I’m not leaving.” He blinked, a glimmer of hope rising in his eyes. “Really? Clara, I knew you still…” “You’re the one who is leaving.” The hope on his face instantly shattered. I pushed past him and began pulling his things out of the closet. He didn’t have much here, just some clothes and basic toiletries. I threw his shirts onto the floor, one by one. He stood in the doorway, his face pale as a ghost. “Clara, what are you doing?” “Seven years’ worth of stuff. It’s quite a lot.” “Are you going to pack it, or should I?” “Clara!” He marched over and grabbed my wrist. “Can you please just calm down? Can we just talk like rational adults?” I looked down at his hand gripping my wrist. This was the hand that had held heating pads for me, bought me breakfast, and wiped away my tears. It was also the hand that had slipped a wedding ring onto another woman’s finger. “Let go,” I said. He didn’t. “Clara, I know you’re furious, but you can’t just throw away seven years of history. You’re just going to throw us away?” *Seven years of history.* I looked at him, and a bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Ethan, do you have any idea how I spent those seven years?” His grip loosened slightly. “Every time my mom asked when we were getting married, I defended you. I told her we were waiting because you weren’t ready. Every time my friends asked why you never posted about me, I told them you just hated social media. Every time I saw other couples getting married, celebrating anniversaries, or posting pictures, I told myself it didn’t matter. I told myself you just liked to keep things private, and that your love for me was enough.” Tears spilled over again. “I spent seven years making excuses for you. And what were you doing?” He stayed silent. “You married someone else. You posted hundreds of times about her while blocking me. You called her your wife. What about me? What was I to you?” “Clara, I really don’t love her…” “Whether you love her or not is none of my business!” I snapped, shaking off his hand. “You lied to me for seven years. That is the only fact that matters.” I pointed at the pile on the floor. “Pack your stuff. Get your things out of here before tonight.”
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