Chapter 2: Second Choice, Broken Vows

Back in college, I fell for Samantha at first sight. She walked into the lecture hall, late as usual, coffee in hand, hair tumbling over her shoulders. My heart skipped a beat. I was a goner from the start.

At the time, Samantha and Cameron were the campus’s most famous couple. They were the couple everyone wanted to be—beautiful, rich, always at the center of every party. I was just the guy in the back row, watching from a distance.

Cameron was handsome. Came from money. Girls lined up for him.

He drove a cherry-red Mustang. Wore tailored shirts. Never seemed to care about anything. People envied him, but I just envied the way Samantha looked at him.

Samantha often fought with him. Got mad. And when she drank too much, she always called me to pick her up.

She’d slur my name, giggle into the phone. I’d drop everything to go get her. I never once let her down.

Someone once asked her, “Aren’t you afraid Cameron will get jealous?”

We were at a party, music blaring. She just laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“What’s there to be jealous about? Mark’s just my doormat. I tell him to jump, he jumps.”

Her words stung. But I laughed it off. Anything to stay close to her.

I knew Samantha only saw me as someone she could boss around. But I didn’t care.

Every once in a while, she’d look at me and smile. I’d convince myself it meant something more. I was fooling myself, but I didn’t care.

Every time Samantha and Cameron booked a hotel room, I was the one who brought her clothes afterward. I’d wait in the lobby, bag in hand, pretending I was just a friend. The front desk ladies gave me pitying looks. I didn’t blame them.

I never said no to anything she asked. If she called at 2 a.m., I’d answer. If she needed cash, I’d find a way. I was always there, even when it hurt.

Everyone called me the rich pushover. It was the running joke on campus. Mark Carter—the guy who’d do anything for a girl who’d never love him back.

I chased her for three years. Watched her and Cameron go through endless cycles of love and breakups.

Every time they split, I’d get my hopes up. Every time they got back together, I’d die a little inside.

Sometimes I thought, maybe one day I’d just be a guest at her wedding. I pictured myself in the pews, forcing a smile, clapping as she walked down the aisle with someone else.

But in my last year of college, everything changed. It was like fate threw me a bone. For once, things didn’t go according to their perfect plan.

It came out that Cameron and Samantha were step-siblings. Cameron was moving overseas. The news spread like wildfire. People whispered in the halls. Samantha started drinking more. Cameron packed his bags.

I knew this was my chance. I’d waited for years. I told myself I’d do anything to make her happy, even if it meant being her second choice.

Samantha got drunk at a bar and called me to pick her up. We both had a drink together.

She was slumped over the counter, eyes red. I sat beside her. Ordered a whiskey. Tried to make her laugh.

She raised her glass to me. “Here’s hoping I find happiness.”

Her voice was so small. So tired. I clinked my glass against hers, wishing for the same thing.

The drink was bitter. I knew it was all just wishful thinking on my part. It burned all the way down. I tried to smile, but my heart wasn’t in it.

But someone had spiked our drinks. We ended up sleeping together.

I barely remember how we got back to her apartment. I just remember waking up next to her. Sunlight streaming in. Her hair spread across the pillow.

I wanted to take responsibility. But Samantha didn’t care.

She shrugged it off. Said it was a mistake. I told her I loved her. She just laughed.

But that night, she got pregnant with Benji. She called me a week later, voice trembling, and told me the news. I felt a strange mix of terror and hope.

Samantha’s doctor said her uterine lining was thin. If she had an abortion, she might never carry a pregnancy again. The doctor’s office was cold, the air heavy with tension. Samantha squeezed my hand, for once looking scared.

With no other choice, we got married. It wasn’t a fairy tale. We signed papers at the courthouse, no flowers, no guests. Just us and a bored clerk.

She demanded a $120,000 payout in the prenup. The car and the house—both in her name.

She laid out the terms like a business deal. I didn’t even blink. I would’ve given her anything.

I was over the moon. I’d finally married the woman I loved.

I called my mom that night, voice shaking with excitement. She tried to be happy for me. But I could tell she was worried.

After Benji was born, I knew she didn’t love him. Or me.

She barely held him in the hospital. When the nurse handed him over, she looked away. Scrolling through her phone.

But I didn’t care. I took pictures of every smile, every milestone. I told myself it was enough.

I always believed that time would show her my heart. I kept hoping she’d see how much I loved her, how much I loved our family. I was stubborn that way.

Besides, Benji was so sweet. So well-behaved.

He’d crawl into my lap, ask for bedtime stories, always say please and thank you. He was the best thing that ever happened to me.

But after giving birth, Samantha stopped coming home at night. Ignored Benji. Refused to breastfeed for fear of ruining her figure. Treated me like her personal ATM. She’d come home smelling like expensive perfume. Hair perfectly styled. Never a hair out of place. She barely glanced at Benji. Every time I asked where she’d been, she’d snap at me, tell me to mind my own business.

All I wanted was for her to remember to come home. I’d leave the porch light on, just in case. Sometimes I’d fall asleep on the couch, waiting for her key in the lock.

If she could spare even a little motherly love for Benji, that would be enough. I just wanted him to feel loved, to know his mom cared. I tried to fill the gap, but it was never enough.

All the prenup money I gave her, she handed over to Cameron. For his trip abroad. I saw the wire transfer on our bank statement. She didn’t even bother hiding it. It hurt, but I didn’t say a word.

I thought life could just go on like this. I convinced myself things would get better. Maybe she’d come around. Maybe she’d see what she was missing.

I played dumb. She kept drifting in and out of our lives. I pretended not to notice the perfume on her clothes, the late-night phone calls. I just focused on Benji.

But when I heard how gentle she was with Lila… My heart broke all over again.

How did she treat my son? With Benji, she was cold. Distant. She barely looked at him. I tried to make up for it, but it never felt like enough.

Benji was so little. Yet she ordered him around, made him fetch her water, and yelled at him whenever she was in a bad mood.

He’d shuffle over, head down. Clutching a glass of water in his tiny hands. If he spilled a drop, she’d snap at him. I tried to shield him, but I couldn’t be everywhere at once.

Thinking of all this, I wanted to tear Samantha apart. Anger simmered beneath the grief. I clenched my fists, jaw tight. Sometimes I had to leave the house just to keep from shouting.