Chapter 2
Life after marriage was even more boring than Melissa had expected. It was the kind of silence that felt dead—like nothing ever happened, not even a single ripple.
Oliver was out the door early and back late every night, and sometimes he'd disappear on business trips for ten days or even two weeks at a time.
Their conversations rarely went beyond, "You're back?" "Yeah." "Have you eaten?" "Yeah." "I'm going to bed." "Okay."
They were just like two polite, distant roommates—never getting in each other's way.
Melissa tried to get closer to him. When he worked late, she'd cook pasta and bring it to his study. He'd just say, "Put it there," and the pasta sat there, untouched, until they were cold.
When he came back from a business trip, she'd go to the airport to pick him up, but he'd say, "Don't bother," and after that, he stopped even telling her which flight he was on.
For his birthday, she spent a whole month knitting him a scarf. He glanced at it, said, "Thanks," then put it away in the closet and never took it out again.
Melissa couldn't tell if Oliver really didn't need it or if he just didn't want anything she gave him.
After a while, Melissa stopped trying. It wasn't that she'd given up. She was just exhausted. She poured all her energy into her job, leaving early and coming home late every day, even busier than Oliver.
Oliver didn't care about her, and Melissa stopped caring if he did. Their marriage became a quiet, mutual understanding—each keeping to themselves and getting by just fine.
Melissa figured this quiet routine would last forever until that day.
At the company's annual party, Oliver arrived with a woman on his arm. She wore a white gown, her long hair cascading over her shoulders, and smiled sweetly as she clung to him. Oliver introduced her to everyone, "This is my fiancée, Megan Dixon."
Melissa and Oliver had been married for two years, and he had never once acknowledged Melissa's existence. Now, in front of the entire company, he was calling another woman his fiancée.
Melissa stood off to the side, champagne in hand, watching Oliver and Megan move through the crowd, soaking up everyone's congratulations and flattery.
She caught sight of the diamond ring on Megan's finger—huge, dazzling, throwing sparks under the lights.
That was something I've never had.
Two years married, and Oliver never bought her a ring. She always said it didn't matter. It was not like she would wear it anyway.
But honestly, she did want one. She just didn't want him to think she was asking for it.
She kept waiting for him to give her one, just because he wanted to. Two years went by, and nothing. Now she got it. It was not that he couldn't give her a ring. He just never wanted to give her one.
"Melissa, didn't you say Mr. Baker was married? How come he's got a fiancée now?" Eve asked.
Eve Nicholson was the new intern—a fresh grad who didn't know much yet and wasn't afraid to ask anything. Melissa turned to her and smiled.
"I must have remembered it wrong," she said.
Eve hesitated, looking like she wanted to ask more, but a coworker tugged her sleeve, so she dropped it.
Melissa set her champagne glass down on the table, grabbed her bag, and walked out of the banquet hall.
The hallway stretched on, her footsteps echoing in the emptiness—each one like the ticking of a clock, counting down to something.
When she reached the elevator, she stopped, pulled out her phone, and checked the time.
It was 9:47 PM. She opened her calendar and saw a reminder she'd left for herself under today's date: "Wedding Anniversary."
She looked at it for a few seconds and then deleted it.
The elevator arrived, and she stepped inside, pressing the button for the first floor.
Just as the elevator doors closed, Melissa heard laughter echoing from the hall. It was Oliver's voice—deep, happy, and genuinely delighted.
She'd never heard him laugh like that before—so open, so real, without holding anything back.
He never smiled at her. Not because he couldn't, but because he never wanted to.
Melissa pressed herself against the elevator wall, shut her eyes, and drew in a long breath.
Not a single tear fell.
She'd long since forgotten how to cry.
*****
As Melissa dragged her suitcase out of the apartment complex, the wind picked up, whipping her hair all over the place.
She stood by the curb, waiting for a ride, hugging her pothos plant close to her chest, worried the wind might tear its leaves off.
Her phone buzzed. It was a message from Oliver: [I won't be home tonight.]
She stared at the screen, her lips twisted into an expression that wasn't really a smile. It was hard to describe—part relief, part farewell.
She didn't reply. She knew he was never coming back for her. There was no point in waiting anymore.
It wasn't that she was insignificant. It was that he never even knew she existed.
The car pulled up, and she got in and told the driver where to go.
He glanced at her in the rearview mirror, probably wondering what kind of story was behind a woman out late at night with a suitcase and a plant in her arms.
She didn't explain because she had no idea herself where she was headed.
Three years ago, she showed up in Branville with just her pothos plant and a grad school letter from back home.
Back then, she had nothing—no money, no place to live, no job, no friends.
She thought moving to Branville would let her turn a new page in life, that the city would welcome her and give her a real home.