Chapter 1
On our two-year anniversary, Cesar Fuller was holding Melany Sanchez in his arms, calling her sweetheart.
She kissed Cesar right on the lips and smirked. "The unloved one is the real third wheel."
Her next words cut deeper. "He isn't attracted to you. It just... doesn't work with you."
Oh, right. Cesar was my boyfriend.
But the woman in his arms wasn't me.
After two years together, it finally sank in. I was just the backup plan.
*****
Today marked my two years of relationship with Cesar.
Two weeks ago, he'd reserved a private room at the Oak Restaurant and said we'd celebrate.
It was past 8:30 PM, and Cesar still hadn't shown up.
He had surgery scheduled today. It should've ended over an hour ago.
I called him. "Cesar, where are you? Are you close?"
His voice was as gentle as ever. "Haisley, I still have a few things to wrap up. Go ahead and eat without me."
"Okay," I said.
After hanging up, I scrolled through Instagram. It was dinner time, and everyone was posting about their meals, their hangouts, or just showing off how in love they were.
I snapped a few photos of the flowers and candles on the table and posted them with the caption: [Happy two-year anniversary!]
Right after I posted, a new update appeared at the top of my Instagram. I glanced at it. It was from Melany.
She'd only shared one photo. It was a candlelit dinner, with a man's hand intertwined with hers. The caption read: [Lost and found. Happy tears.]
Posts like this were everywhere, so I was about to scroll past until something about the man's hand caught my eye. It looked strangely familiar.
In the photo, the guy had a small scar on his index finger.
What a coincidence. Cesar had the exact same scar.
After two years with Cesar, I knew his hands better than my own. They were beautiful, slender, fair, with perfect knuckles. Flawless, except for that tiny scar on his right index finger.
I zoomed in on the picture, checking every detail. The more I looked, the heavier my heart sank.
That was exactly Cesar's hand. My heart pounded. There was no way I was mistaken.
Yet, I tried to convince myself that Cesar couldn't be that kind of person.
I closed the app and sent him a message: [How much longer? I'm starving.]
He replied almost instantly: [Baby, it'll be a while. If you're hungry, please start without me. Be good, okay?]
I sent him a sad puppy emoji. He replied with a pat-on-the-head emoji.
A wave of relief washed over me.
It must just be a coincidence. There was no way the man with Melany was Cesar.
After waiting a little longer, I got up to use the restroom. As I turned the corner, I heard Melany's sugary voice coming from the next private room.
"Cesar, I want the creamy garlic butter shrimp," she cooed.
"Alright, I'll get it for you, sweetheart. Take your time," Cesar replied, his tone dripping with affection.
I froze, peering through the small glass window. There was Melany, sitting right on Cesar's lap. He held her with one arm and used the other to serve her the dish she wanted.
It felt like I'd been struck by lightning. I blinked hard, staring in disbelief, wishing it were all a bad dream.
But they were right there, just a few steps away, and every word of their sweet, intimate conversation came through crystal clear.
"I want you to feed me," Melany purred, snuggling deeper into his arms.
"Alright, sweetheart. You're the boss tonight," Cesar said, his voice tender.
Melany gave him a quick kiss, her smile sweet as honey. "Cesar, you're the best."
Melany was the daughter of Quran Sanchez, the hospital director. She returned from abroad in March, known for being bold, fiery, and unapologetically direct.
From her very first day at the hospital, she had spotted Cesar and decided he would be hers.
Her approach was direct. She flirted effortlessly, tossing sweet remarks his way whenever she pleased, without a care for time or place.
At first, Cesar kept his distance. He avoided her whenever possible, even the sight of her shadow was enough to make him turn the other way.
But somewhere along the line, something shifted.
He still acted somewhat reserved, yet he no longer pushed her away. Sometimes he'd even defend her, saying, "She's just straightforward. Honestly, she's kind of cute."
When a man called a woman cute, the implications were clear.
I watched the faint smile curl at the corner of Cesar's lips, and my eyes stung with a sharp pain.
Outside, the summer heat hung thick and heavy, like the suffocating air of a sauna. Yet inside, I felt as though I'd been plunged into an icy river. A chill crept up from my toes until my whole body was trembling.
I didn't really remember how I made it back to the private room. A heavy weight seemed to crush my chest, making it hard to breathe.
The waiter knocked and entered. "Miss, shall I begin serving the dishes?"
"Go ahead," I replied numbly.
I had already ordered everything. No point letting it go to waste.
"Okay," he said.
I barely tasted a thing, choking down the hardest meal of my life. I left long before Cesar showed up.
By the time I got home, it was almost ten. I opened the door to darkness.
Flipping on the lights, I changed into slippers.
I bought this apartment six months ago, just over 1,000 square feet. I paid the down payment myself, and now I covered the $1,500 monthly mortgage.
Cesar owned the unit next door, a spacious 1,300 square feet. He once said that after we married, we could tear down the wall and combine them into one large home.
He paid for his in full.
When we bought the apartments, Cesar even offered to pay off mine entirely and put it solely in my name. Yet, I refused.
We were in this with marriage in mind, but I never wanted to take advantage.
Looking back now, I supposed everything really did happen for a reason.