Chapter 1: The Wife Everyone Envies

Natalie’s calm felt less like peace and more like someone unplugged the whole house. She never texts to ask where I am, never questions who I’m with. It’s like she trusts me by default.

It was something I used to brag about—how my phone stayed quiet, how she never blew up my inbox or grilled me about my plans. In a world where guys complain about jealous wives, mine just let me live. I thought that meant we had something special.

All my friends would go on and on about how lucky I was—how easygoing and loving Natalie seemed.

At backyard barbecues and poker nights, the guys would nudge me, raising their bottles. "Dude, how’d you get so lucky? Natalie’s, like, the unicorn wife. No drama, no nagging. Trade you for mine any day." I’d just grin and shrug, trying not to show how much I needed their approval. I’d laugh along, but sometimes I wondered if I was the only one pretending.

Until, by accident, I stumbled onto her Instagram—one I’d never seen before. The first post stopped me cold:

Caption: “If it’s not you, it doesn’t matter who I marry. #nightthoughts 💔”

Scrolling through her feed, my hands started to shake, cold sweat prickling at my neck. My heart pounded so loud I could barely hear. I reread the captions in disbelief, refreshing the page as if the words might disappear. Sentences written under the blue glow of our bedroom lamp, but never for me.

Caption: “Turns out, emotional stability and passionate love can’t coexist. With you, it’s never this calm. #confessions”

The pictures told a story I never saw—sunsets, empty coffee cups, the back of someone’s head I didn’t recognize. It was all there, spelled out in hashtags and late-night laments.

Caption: “Luckily, my daughter looks like me. That way, when the three of us travel, there won’t be anyone else’s shadow. ✈️👩‍👧”

A photo with Lily—my daughter’s tiny hand wrapped in hers. I realized, suddenly, why there were never any pictures with me in them.

On our wedding anniversary, the captions lined up with dates I’d thought she was just 'busy.' There were photos of Natalie, Lily, and a man I’d never seen—smiling wider than I’d ever seen at home. My heart hammered like I’d been sucker-punched.

Caption: “Only by doing this can I pretend my husband is you. #pretend #alwaysyou”

It was like someone had rewritten my life, right out in the open, and I’d been too blind to see it. The world tilted under me.

Some people say she’s pitiful for living like this. I think so too.

Sometimes I think she’s the tragic one—trapped by a love she never got to keep, settling for me out of resignation. But the truth is, I’m just as much a ghost in this marriage as she is.

So, I took out the divorce papers. I didn’t even want custody of my daughter.

The moment the pen hit the paper, I felt numb, almost relieved. I didn’t even want to fight for Lily. Maybe I was a coward. Maybe I just didn’t want to keep chasing something that was never mine.

But for the first time, Natalie lost control, her composure cracking. Her eyes flashed as she demanded, voice rising and hands trembling:

"What man has it as easy and worry-free as you? Don’t act innocent when you’ve enjoyed every advantage."

She was on the edge, a crack running through her perfect calm. I’d never seen her like this—her voice breaking, composure slipping.

But I looked at her bare ring finger, my voice steady:

"Whoever wants this advantage can have it."

I let the silence hang, searching her face for even a flicker of regret. There was nothing.

"I don’t want a woman whose heart belongs to someone else."

It was the truest thing I’d ever said. The words echoed between us, and for once, neither of us pretended anymore.

I wondered, not for the first time, if anyone would notice if I never came home.