After Finding Ten Years of Love Was Fake, I Stopped Pretending

Ten years together. To everyone who knew us, we were the model couple.

For me, Stewart Gilbert turned down an offer from a listed company back home.

Housing in the big city was expensive, so we could only live in the talent-program apartment I'd applied for.

But he always said home was wherever I was. He handled all three meals a day, and even washed my underthings by hand.

More than once I told him that meeting him was the greatest blessing of my life.

Later, I got pregnant. My parents sold their home to help me put together the down payment.

The night before the move, Stewart asked me to reply to a message for him.

My finger slipped, and I tapped into a group chat I'd never seen before.

His parents were in it. So was the childhood sweetheart he'd sworn he hadn't spoken to in years.

The messages stopped at something he'd sent half an hour earlier.

Not signing the marriage license is the only way to shake her off cleanly later. Don't worry, I checked in secret. The baby in her belly is definitely a boy.

Once the house transfer goes through, I'll bring Shelby over. I already changed the door code. It's the date of my first time with Shelby.

A leering emoji followed right behind it. Just looking at it turned my stomach.

Ten years of devotion, nothing but a play he'd carefully rehearsed.

Suddenly I wanted to know how he'd keep the show running once he lost his leading lady.

This play, I wasn't performing in it anymore.

I'd barely set the phone down when Stewart's voice came from the bathroom.

"Still not done replying?" His tone was perfectly calm, as if it never crossed his mind I might see that group.

"Just finished. When did you change the code? Lucky I registered my fingerprint." I steered around it, wanting to see how he'd react.

A moment ago I'd found Shelby Prescott's icon in the group and opened their chat.

The conversation had only been hidden, not deleted. The records were all still there.

An hour earlier, Shelby had still been wheedling at him: : I've put up with being wronged for so long, and you don't even think to make it up to me.

How about you change the code to the date of our first time?

Stewart had agreed without hesitation. Just like he'd said in the group, it wasn't only the phone. Even the new home my parents had bought now used that sickening number.

When he heard me ask about the code, he clearly paused for a few seconds.

The running water cut off fast, and he came hurrying out with just a towel wrapped around him.

"So you found out?"

I thought he was about to come clean. Something in me softened a little, and I waited for the rest.

"Well? Do you remember what today is?" The confession I'd braced for never came. The sudden question left me blank for a few seconds.

Seeing me freeze, he looked a bit put out.

"You don't even remember the day we first knew we had feelings for each other? What do you fill your head with all day?"

"Never mind. Your most important job right now is to protect the baby. Bringing him safely into the world matters more than anything."

With that, not even waiting for a reply, he ducked back into the bathroom.

The hair dryer roared in the room, and yet in that moment I couldn't hear a thing.

It was as though the blood had been drained from my limbs all at once. I couldn't believe it. What I'd waited for turned out to be an even uglier lie.

There hadn't been a trace of guilt in his eyes when he spoke just now. If anything, he'd looked halfway sincere.

I laughed bitterly to myself. All these years, how many lies had I recorded as proof of his love?

I couldn't stomach turning on him right this second.

Ten years of scenes kept rising in my mind, and every tender record was now evidence that mocked me.

The bitterness in my heart spread through my whole body. In that moment, all I wanted was for him to taste my pain too.

Maybe he'd picked up on my mood, because once his hair was dry he came and sat down beside me again.

"What is it? Still blaming yourself?"

Blaming myself? I hadn't expected him to think that, and my eyes went wide before I could stop them.

But to him, the reaction only looked like he'd read me exactly right.

"It's okay. I'll remember those days, that's enough."

He gathered me into his arms and murmured the comfort softly.

Then, as if something had just come back to him, he unlocked his phone and handed it to me.

On the screen was one of those matching-set trinkets that had been all over social media lately.

The same one I'd seen on Shelby Prescott's feed earlier that day.

"Aren't those really hard to get hold of?" I looked into his eyes and started to test him.

"As long as you like it, hard to get or not, I'll get it for you." He patted my head, his tone all indulgence.

"Though, you know how it is, these have to go through someone to buy now." He sighed and pulled me back against him.

"But it'll be here next month." His arms were warm, and yet my body felt colder and colder.

I thought of all those photos on Shelby's feed, so many brands I recognized.

I didn't dare think too closely about it.

All these years, the gifts I'd treasured like something precious. How many of them had gone to Shelby first?

How many had only been the freebies that came with buying her presents?

I closed my eyes and looked back over our ten years. The truth cut too deep, and the pillowcase I'd only just changed was soaked through with tears again all night.

When I woke, Stewart had already made breakfast.

Looking at the simple eggs and ham, the homemade breakfast that used to move me left me with no appetite at all.

Today was the prenatal checkup, and Stewart had been waiting at the door for a while, hurrying me along.

But the moment I'd changed and walked out of the room, I saw him back in the living room grabbing his things, his face full of urgency.

"Something urgent's come up at work. I have to head out." He tossed it off as he passed me.

"I can't go with you to the checkup today."

Even though I'd braced myself for it ahead of time, in that moment my heart still skipped a beat.

"Does it have to be today?" I looked up at him, wishing so much that he could feel what I was feeling right then and set down that bag in his hand.

"What do you mean, does it have to be today? An emergency at work doesn't wait for a better day." There was impatience in his voice.

"Just this once. Just once, can't you go on your own?" He looked at me, and there was something almost like hatred in his eyes.

It felt like my heart was being squeezed in a fist, and I could barely breathe.

Thinking back to the last set of results, I grabbed his arm and tried to hold him.

"Can't you just not go? You know the doctor said last time that"

But before I could finish, he cut me off.

"If I don't go to work, who's going to support you? Who's going to support the baby?"

"Whose husband goes to every single one? How many times have I gone with you already? That's plenty, isn't it."

"Can you stop crying at the drop of a hat? Even if you won't think about yourself, you have to think about the son in your belly."

I looked at him and felt like the man in front of me had become a stranger. All these years, and I'd never once seen him clearly.

His phone rang again. He flung my hand off, and I lost my footing and nearly fell.

But the pain in my belly left me uneasy, and I tried to grab him again, tried to make him take me to the hospital.

He only glanced at me once, then left without looking back.

A second before I blacked out, I dialed 911.

When I came to again, the doctor told me, with regret in her voice, that the baby's heart had stopped.

Lying on the operating table, staring up at the harsh light, I trembled at the cold touch of the instruments.

Sensing how tense I was, the nurse beside me spoke gently.

"Don't worry. You're still young. Once you recover, there'll be another."

I didn't know how to answer her. I only let the tears slide down my cheeks.

Seeing me like that, she must have thought I was simply new to all this, that I couldn't accept it yet.

She shook her head and said nothing more. But I knew. I would never have a child again.

All these years, because Stewart kept putting off marriage, I hadn't wanted a baby before we were even married.

But fate likes its little jokes. In the very year Stewart gave up his job back home,

we had a child.

Back then, thinking of our situation, we barely consulted a doctor before booking the procedure.

It was only afterward that I learned I'd been frail from birth, and after the surgery, having children later might be nearly impossible.

So when this baby came, I was so happy. I wanted to keep it no matter what.

When my parents found out, they even sold their house to help me cover the down payment.

And now, even this child, I hadn't been able to keep.

By the time Stewart arrived, I'd already been moved to a ward to rest.

Seeing how disheveled he looked, I thought at first it was because he'd rushed here in such a hurry.

"How could you not even protect the baby?"

Watching him stride quickly to my side, I thought he was worried about me.

The moment he opened his mouth, it was to blame me.

I looked at him coldly, and all I felt was how absurd it was.

"So it's because I didn't protect it?" My voice carried no emotion. My heart had long since gone numb with pain.

He seemed to remember our argument that morning, and to realize the words he'd just said weren't quite right.

He didn't argue further, only sat at the edge of the bed and took my hand.

"You know better than anyone, with your body, how hard it was for this baby to come. I was just anxious."

His palm was damp with sweat, and the instant he took my hand, something in me turned.

Seeing how poorly I looked, he sighed, reached for the cup by the bed, and got up to fetch water.

But as he turned to the side, I saw the red marks on his neck.

I caught his hand. Under his puzzled stare,

I pointed at the mark and demanded, "What is that?"

He followed my hand and looked down at himself. Even in his blind spot, he quickly understood what I meant.

"After everything that's happened, you're still here being paranoid?" He shot to his feet and glared at me.

As if I were the one who'd done something wrong.

"I think you're a little unstable right now. Maybe losing the baby is more than you can take."

"I'll call your parents later and have them come. I'm going back first."

Watching him flee out the door, the last bit of hope I'd held for him vanished.

He didn't need to contact my parents. I got there first, and dialed.

But the moment I heard my mother's voice, I couldn't hold it back, and broke into sobs.

After she heard the whole story, my mother was so angry she couldn't say a word for a long time.

Finally, she asked me what I meant to do.

I told her the plan.

A moment passed, and then she sighed. "You're the one who has to suffer through it."

Just as I'd planned, my mother went back to the talent-program apartment, and sure enough Stewart wasn't home.

We moved everything out overnight, and I contacted the office to end the lease.

As for the lock on the new place, I changed the code right away and had the complex delete his name.

When her message came through, I was lying in bed, watching the moon outside the window.

It was full and bright, the same as the night he promised he'd be good to me for the rest of my life.

But the moon has no light of its own, just like his vows were never real.

The days I'd spent in the hospital, Stewart never came back once. Not even a single phone call.

It hit me late: he was always like this. Somewhere no one knew him, he never bothered to be considerate.

The day I was discharged, I called him first.

His voice was tired, but the words that came out still cut.

"Calmed down now? You're not going to throw a fit at me again, are you?"

"Losing the baby's not a big deal. Worst case, we adopt one later."

"I'll come pick you up now. The transfer's set for tomorrow anyway."

Swallowing my disgust, I told him where I was.

Not long after, his car pulled up in front of me.

But the moment I got in, that sickening rank smell in the car still made my eyes sting.

"Someone else was riding in your car?"

I glared at him. He didn't so much as blink.

"No one. Why are you always imagining things?"

He reached over to buckle my seatbelt, couldn't get it, then grew impatient and waved me off to do it myself.

The instant I bent down, I saw the stockings shoved into the gap.

Blood roared through me, fury shooting straight up into my chest.

He must have noticed I'd frozen in place too long.

He spoke again. "Stop being so paranoid about everything. We're getting married soon. Turning a blind eye won't hurt youand you can't have kids anymore, so besides me, who else would want you?"

The rage overshot itself. Once the pain went numb, all that was left was calm.

I lowered my eyes and didn't look at him again.

"Isn't the transfer set for tomorrow? Let's just meet at the housing office."

With that, I unbuckled the belt and ignored his voice calling after me.

I walked away without looking back.

Stewart didn't come after me. That night, he updated his social media feed.

It was a screenshot of him winning that little figurine at auction.

My wife wanted it, so I paid extra just to get it for her.

Underneath, his contacts all left the same "showing off again" comments.

I didn't want to keep propping up that image of his.

So I left one comment: Is it only me you buy things for?

My private messages instantly jumped to 99+.

Stewart's was among them, cursing me out, asking what had gotten into me.

I didn't reply to a single one. I only posted one line on my feed: See you tomorrow.

Early the next morning, Stewart messaged me.

He asked when I'd get there. I snapped a blurry photo of the scenery outside a window and replied that I was on my way.

Seeing the photo, Stewart let out a breath.

My reply the day before had genuinely unsettled him, afraid I wouldn't show.

But the moment he saw the picture I sent, that unease was quickly washed away.

He even started reassuring Shelby. "Relax, there's no way she won't come."

Once he stopped messaging, I dragged him into my blacklist.

Right on time, I posted the photo grid on my feed, stripping away every bit of the mask Stewart had kept up all these years.

My feed blew up in an instant, but Stewart still had no idea.

He waited at the housing office until quitting time and never saw me.

Simmering with anger, he went back to the talent-program apartment, only to be told the place had already been surrendered.

The unease inside him grew and grew. He drove straight to the new place, wanting to prove his suspicions wrong.

But at the entrance of the complex, security stopped him.

He staggered back two steps, unable to believe it. Just then, his phone rang.

"Stewart, I really never thought you were this kind of person. Let's delete each other."

He didn't understand, and only after a whole round of being cursed out did he finally see the screenshot of my feed.

"How could this be!" The phone dropped to the ground, the screen shattering to pieces.