Chapter 4: Ghosts of Marriage

For the three years we were married, he treated me just like any other couple would.

We had our routines: Saturday morning coffee at the diner, quiet dinners with his parents, polite conversation at backyard Fourth of July BBQs. On the surface, we looked picture-perfect. Underneath, we were strangers sharing a mortgage.

But everyone knew—even after getting married, he never let go of Lillian.

It was in the way he hesitated before kissing me goodnight, or the nights he stayed late at the office, only to show up at my parents’ house, checking on Lillian’s recovery like a man haunted by his own choices.

He never let me into the study.

That room was always locked, like a safe. I used to make excuses for it, telling myself it was just his sanctuary. But secrets have a way of seeping through the cracks.

Once, he forgot to close the door. I peeked through the crack and instantly felt like I’d fallen into an ice-cold lake.

The air in there was frigid, even in summer, and my breath snagged in my chest. It was the kind of cold that had nothing to do with the thermostat—just the sharp, suffocating chill of being utterly alone.

The walls of the study were covered with wedding photos of him and Lillian!

There they were, grinning from every frame—white dress, black tux, sun-drenched smiles. Not a single trace of me, just their happiness frozen in time. I stood frozen, every ounce of hope draining out of me.

I’d never seen that side of Derek before.

His face in those photos was open and tender, a warmth he never showed me. It was like watching a stranger through glass, realizing you’d been living with his ghost all along.

His expression was vivid, doting, focused—his heart and eyes were filled with Lillian.

Every photo told a story I could never be part of. He looked at her like she was the only person in the world, and suddenly, I was painfully aware of how invisible I’d always been.

That was the moment I first thought about divorce.

I shut the door quietly, the decision taking root somewhere deep inside. For the first time, I allowed myself to imagine a life without Derek, without the constant ache of being second best.