Chapter 2: The Perfect Couple Unravels

In the days that followed, Natalie left early and came home late. She’d kiss my cheek at dawn, promise to call, then vanish until after midnight. I stopped waiting for her key in the lock. The cat curled up on my side of the bed, as if she knew things had changed.

Her assistant was bold. Somehow, Derek found my contact info and added me. At first, I thought it was a mistake. Then the Instagram tags started—photos of Natalie, always laughing, always with him. Every ping from Derek made my skin crawl. I wanted to block him, but I needed the receipts. In this city, screenshots were better than witnesses.

One day, he posted: “Today, Dr. Carter made me a love bento. Does she treat you this well?” The photo showed a heart-shaped lunchbox—the same one I’d gifted Natalie for her birthday. My stomach twisted. She’d used my gift for another man. I’d packed her lunch for years, never imagining it’d end up in his hands.

Then came the video: “It’s my birthday. Dr. Carter booked a huge private suite for the celebration. Aren’t 999 roses beautiful?” Natalie and Derek, lips locked, surrounded by roses. Their coworkers—my friends—cheered them on, chanting, “Marry him! Marry him!” I thought I was numb, but my heart bled all over again. I threw myself into work, trying not to think of them.

Natalie noticed the shift. She cornered me one night, arms folded, blocking the door. “What have you been so busy with lately? We haven’t seen each other in ages.” Her tone was half-joking, half-accusatory. The last flicker of care I felt for her died right then.

I grunted without looking up, scrolling through emails. She stared at me, stunned. “I’m talking to you! What’s with the ‘mm’?” She snatched my phone, searching for evidence I was cheating. But my phone was clean. I met her gaze, calm and steady. “Finished? Can I have my phone back?”

She dropped it on the table, faking a laugh. “Heh, why are you looking at houses? Who’s buying a house?”

“A client asked me to check,” I lied, scrolling through Zillow. She didn’t press further. “There’s a hospital event tonight. I have to give a speech. Dress formally. I’ll go straight from work—you take a Lyft.” She hugged me, her hands cold, then left. I watched the door close, the apartment suddenly empty.

The party started soon after. The hospital lobby was strung with fake snowflakes, Mariah Carey blaring overhead, doctors in ugly sweaters swapping stories over spiked cider. I put on my old navy suit, straightened my tie, and practiced my deadpan smile.

Natalie was on stage, giving her speech. Derek stood beside her, the two of them looking like a cover story for Modern Healthcare. Nearby nurses whispered, “Dr. Carter and Dr. Grant are such a great match. It’s a shame Dr. Carter is already married—otherwise they’d be perfect together.” Another nurse giggled, “I totally ship them! They’re so sweet together. The way they look at each other is almost nauseating.”

Natalie just smiled, blushing, never once glancing my way. “Alright, alright, stop joking. I have a husband! Dr. Grant and I are just colleagues.”

Then the big screen behind her flickered to life—a video of Natalie and Derek, tangled together. The room went silent, every eye glued to the screen. Natalie’s knees buckled. The crowd parted, and for the first time, she looked straight at me—not as her husband, but as the one holding the remote.