I'm the type who has the urge to overshare my life with him.

It can be anything, be it the flowers blooming by the side of the road, the unpleasant coffee I end up having, or the sunset I've seen when I'm on my way home from work.

Heck, when I think of Edwin Howell all of a sudden, I can't resist texting him at all. His replies are always short and perfunctory, though I suppose they count as a form of response from him.

Hence, over the past six months, I've relied on these cold-sounding yet present replies to give me enough strength to deal with the engagement party, go wedding gown shopping, and choose the wedding venue all by myself.

Somehow, I've managed to hang in there till the week before the wedding.

But five days before the wedding, I discover an AI program that's installed within Edwin's computer. It can categorize every single sentence that I've sent to Edwin and extract the keywords. Then, it'll draft the most perfunctory responses that will never go wrong.

If I miss Edwin, the AI will reply, "Mm-hmm."

If I feel aggrieved, the AI will reply, "Got it."

When I try to vent my frustrations to Edwin, the AI will reply, "Don't make such a big deal out of it."

It turns out that Edwin isn't the one who has been responding to my need to overshare. The thing is, he has been texting another woman nonstop in another private chat. They talk about anything and everything under the sun, from exchanging simple good mornings and good nights to asking, "What are you having for lunch today?" and "Do you wanna go to the beach someday?"

Finally, I realize that Edwin isn't the silent type who keeps his love in. If anything, he's the flashy type who will proclaim his love anywhere, anytime.

It's just that… his love has never been mine to have.

As for me, I've finally made up my mind to stop spending my life waiting for a response that will never come.

It was already 10:00 pm when Edwin Howell got home. After coming into the house, he asked me, "Why aren't you asleep yet?"

Sitting on the living room couch, I stared at him. "I was waiting for you."

He frowned.

"If you had something to tell me, couldn't you have just sent me a message on WhatsApp? Did you really have to wait until I got back?"

"Do you think I talk too much, Edwin?" I asked.

Pausing, he queried, "Why are you suddenly asking me that?"

"Just tell me the truth."

He slung his jacket over the back of a chair, looking a little annoyed. "Well, I do feel that way sometimes."

Nodding, I asked, "When do you feel that way?"

"Well, when I'm at work and you send me a bunch of pointless messages."

"Such as?"

"Such as what you sent at noon today—you told me a new cafe opened near your office and asked if I wanted to try it with you this weekend. And this afternoon, you said you wanted to change the wedding centerpieces to white dahlias.

"Oh, and earlier this evening, you said you were scared to walk down the street alone because the streetlights were out."

After chuckling, he added, "Christine, haven't you realized that you share practically everything with me?"

I looked at him and asked, "Don't all couples do that?"

"But I don't have that much time and energy to spare."

Edwin sat down in front of me, his tone softening as he seemingly tried to reason with me. "I'm exhausted from work every day, yet when I come home, I still have to deal with your feelings. Can't you be a little more mature?"

Be more mature—that was his favorite phrase to throw at me throughout the last five years.

When I wanted to celebrate our anniversary together, he told me to be more mature and stop obsessing over pointless formalities.

When I wanted him to accompany me to my wedding gown try-ons, he told me to be more mature and that wedding gowns all looked the same anyway.

When I wanted him to let me vent about my frustrations at work to him, he told me to be more mature and that everyone had frustrations of their own at work.

But I saw his chat history with Melissa Sweeney today. It went on for so long that even after I'd spent the entire afternoon scrolling backward, I only managed to make it back six months.

I saw a version of Edwin that felt like a complete stranger to me, one that not only indulged in another woman's every whim but even acted a little childish and foolish.

When Melissa complained about the grapes she ate being too sour, he spent half an hour patiently and gently cheering her up again.

Looking at Edwin, I couldn't resist asking, "Then, why doesn't Melissa have to be mature?"

Edwin frowned yet again. "Christine, did you wait up for me just to pick a fight with me?"

There he was, trying to make it seem like I was the one being unreasonable. That was his signature move.

Whenever I brought up Melissa, he would always end up countering me by painting me as the ridiculous and immature one.

But this time, I stopped backing down.

"Fine. I won't talk about Melissa," I said as I looked him straight in the eye, my voice crisp and clear. "If you think I talk too much, just tell me. Why did you create an AI program to deal with me instead?"

At last, Edwin's expression changed. A flicker of guilt mixed into the impatience and annoyance that were still written on his face. "How did you know about that? Did you check my computer without my permission?"

I kept quiet and simply stared at him. After a short pause, he sighed, as if giving in. "Well, you kept complaining that I only made gifts for Mellie and not you. That AI program is my gift to you."

What an absurd explanation that was. I wanted to laugh.

Edwin was renowned as a genius in the programming industry.

For Melissa's birthday, he had built her a personal website. When she opened it, snow would drift across the screen, fireworks would burst in the background, and a message would appear in the center.

"Always be happy, Mellie. I will forever be by your side."

When Melissa said she had insomnia, he programmed an app that would help her sleep. It would recommend the most suitable white noise to match her mood and even remind her to drink some warm water if she were still awake at 2:00 am.

And when Melissa said she felt bored at work, he made her a game. It consisted of a character that ran around cheering her on, saying things like, "You're the best, Mellie!"

But when it came to me, all I got was an AI program designed to help him brush me off with automated responses.

I couldn't be bothered arguing with Edwin anymore. I went straight back to the bedroom and went to sleep. It was my day off, so I slept in.

Before I had even opened my eyes, I heard laughter and playful banter coming from the living room. The two people who were talking didn't even bother keeping their voices down.

I opened the bedroom door and saw Edwin still by the entryway, changing out his running shoes. His hair was damp with sweat, and the zipper of his running jacket was half down.

He had two bags of breakfast with him.

Melissa was right behind him, her cheeks flushed as she remarked with a laugh, "I almost couldn't finish the run today."

Edwin grinned at her, retorting, "It's your fault for staying up late last night. We'll just cut our run by half a lap tomorrow."

During the second year of my relationship with Edwin, I suggested that we take walks around the neighborhood after dinner.

He said he didn't have time for that. After I brought it up a few more times, he told me he was tired enough after work and wanted to spend his evenings peacefully at home.

But for the past three years, come rain or shine, he would wake up one hour early to join Melissa on her morning runs.

Upon seeing me exiting the bedroom, Edwin paused. "Oh. You're up."

I said nothing.

He lifted up the two bags of food. "I bought breakfast. Want to have some with us?"

I didn't even have to wait for him to unbox the food to know what he'd bought—a shrimp omelet and clam chowder. Those were Melissa's favorites, but I was severely allergic to shellfish.

The first time I ended up in the hospital due to an allergic reaction, Edwin sat with me while I received the IV drip and carefully made a note of my allergies on his phone.

But the next time he bought breakfast, it was still some shrimp omelet and clam chowder. It was second nature to him. After all, he and Melissa had known each other for over two decades now.

But this time, I suddenly felt drained.

"Edwin."

He looked at me.

"Why do you keep forgetting that I'm allergic to shellfish?"

Edwin's smile faltered, but Melissa immediately flashed a playful grin at me. "It's my fault. Christine. I kept urging Eddie to buy the food that I wanted, so he forgot to ask you what you'd like to have. It won't happen again. Right, Eddie?"

He nodded, saying, "That's right. I'll get you something else next time."

I'd heard that before. Yet, ever since they started going on these morning runs, not once had he ever bought any sort of breakfast food that I could eat.

I didn't bother saying anything more.

Melissa was already heading to the bathroom as if this were her house. "I'm going to take a shower first, Eddie. I hate feeling so sticky."

"Go ahead. I left you a fresh towel in the usual spot."

The usual spot referred to the second drawer in the bathroom. A pink bath towel, apricot-scented body wash, and Melissa's favorite body lotion were kept there all year long.

Edwin never bothered with any of the housework. Even when the toilet roll had run out for three days, he wouldn't even think to replace the empty roll with a new one.

But whenever it was something for Melissa, he was nothing if not meticulous, always remembering to switch it out in time.

Edwin and I were the ones living in this house, but right now, I was the one standing in the living room, looking like an unwelcome outsider.

A heaviness filled my chest. I went back into the bedroom. After getting changed, I grabbed my handbag and started heading to the front door.

Edwin finally looked at me again. "Where are you going?"

"I've got something to do."

He didn't bother asking any further and went back to setting breakfast out for Melissa.

Once I stepped out of the house and felt the breeze against my face, it felt as if I could finally breathe again.

There were a lot of things I had to do today. The first on the list was canceling my order for the wedding gown. I also had to cancel the booking for the wedding venue.

The moment I entered the bridal boutique, Alice Dennings, the sales assistant who attended to me, came over and greeted me.

"Hi, Ms. Graham. Are you here with Mr. Howell today? We've prepared both the wedding veils you were deliberating over today. You can try them on with your gown later for your fiance, and he can help you pick the right one."

It was only after she'd finished speaking that she finally realized no one else had come in with me. Her expression stiffened slightly.

With a light chuckle, I replied, "I'm here alone, and I'm not here for a try-on. Please help me cancel my order."

Alice's expression fell, but she didn't ask any questions. After all, what bride would come in for six separate fittings without her groom showing up even once?

The first few times it happened, she'd tried to brush it off with a laugh, saying, "Mr. Howell must be very busy with work."

By the sixth fitting, she had stopped mentioning Edwin altogether. She simply helped me into the gown and adjusted the hem in silence.

After the paperwork for the order cancellation was completed, she handed me the refund receipt. With an earnest expression, she said, "You're a kind and wonderful person, Ms. Graham. You're also very pretty. I'm sure you'll meet someone who truly cherishes you."

I froze for a moment before thanking her with a smile. But after leaving the bridal boutique, my eyes started to sting.

Even someone who had never met Edwin before could tell that he wasn't a man worth marrying. Yet, it had taken me five whole years to come to that realization.

By the time I'd cancelled my bookings for everything—from the wedding venue to the photographer and the florist—the sun had almost fully set.

I got a call from Lori Fuller, Edwin's mother.

"Hey, Christine. Come over to the house for dinner today."

After a pause, she added with a smile in her voice, "Edwin and Mellie are already here. We're all just waiting for you."

Lori loved hosting. She organized several dinner gatherings every month, inviting all of her friends and family.

Melissa attended every single one of these gatherings, but I only ever received a half-hearted invitation once a month, at the end of the month.

By the time I arrived, the food had already been served, and everyone had started eating. Melissa sat beside Edwin, enjoying a crab leg. Edwin, who always said he was a clean freak and hated getting his hands dirty, had already peeled enough shrimp to last her the entire meal.

When Melissa saw me come in, she grinned at me. "You're here, Christine!"

Did this count as waiting for me?

But I didn't bother pointing that out. I simply took a seat in the corner in silence.

Almost every dish on the table had some kind of shellfish, which was Melissa's favorite thing to eat. Since I couldn't have any of that, I stuck to just the salad.

Halfway through the meal, Lori abruptly turned to me with a smile, asking, "Christine, how's the catering for the wedding reception coming along? Can you add lobster to the menu? Oh, and how about some cheese-baked crab? Mellie loves that the most."

Melissa smiled sheepishly. "You don't have to, Mrs. Howell. It was just an idea."

"Since you like it, we'll add it to the menu. After all, what matters most is that everyone enjoys the food at the wedding reception."

The salad greens seemed to lose what little flavor they had in the first place.

It was supposed to be Edwin's and my wedding. It was one thing for him to be completely hands-off with the wedding planning, but now, even the food had to cater to Melissa's preferences.

But then again, the wedding ceremony had already been canceled, so why would there be a wedding reception?

I hummed in acknowledgment and said nothing.

Everything I ate tasted like cardboard after that. Once the grueling dinner finally ended, Lori ushered me to the living room couch to have some fruit for dessert. Then, she turned to Melissa and smiled. "Come help me do the dishes, Mellie."

Melissa was just about to get up when Edwin frowned. "Mom, Mellie is on her period. It'd be pretty uncomfortable for her to stay on her feet for so long. Let Christine do it instead."

My hand tightened around my mug of water.

So, Edwin was capable of remembering such details. Yet, in the entirety of our five-year relationship, he'd never remembered when my period came.

Just last month, on the first day of my period, I had been in so much pain that my face had gone pale. Edwin, however, assumed I'd layered on too much foundation and said to me with a serious expression, "Your foundation is too pale. It doesn't suit your skin tone. Don't use it again."

Lori froze for a moment before chuckling. "How can we let a guest do the dishes for us? Well, since Mellie can't do it, you and your father can do it instead."

Once the two men were herded into the kitchen, Melissa joined them, leaning against the doorframe as she watched in amusement.

I sat alone on the couch, like a pathetic clown spying on a happy family that I wasn't a part of.

Once they were done with the dishes, they came back to the living room and chatted with each other. After a while, Melissa seemed to get a little drowsy and let out a yawn. Edwin immediately noticed that and got up, grabbing his car keys.

"It's getting late. We should go now."

As always, he dropped Melissa off at her place first—but it wasn't far from our apartment anyway. He'd picked it out himself for her. It was a serene apartment complex with lots of greenery and excellent security. Her favorite breakfast diner was right across the street, and around the corner was a cafe she frequented.

Most importantly, it was only two streets away from our house.

"If Mellie ever has an emergency, I can go to her without wasting any time," Edwin explained.

Well, she seemed to have a lot of things that qualified as an emergency in his eyes, everything from a broken pipe and a power outage to a fever.

He also went over each time she woke up from a nightmare or got scared after watching a movie.

Once the car pulled up outside Melissa's apartment, she got out and waved at us with a smile. "Drive safe, Eddie. See you next time, Christine."

Edwin waited until the lights turned on in her apartment unit before driving off. The previously jovial atmosphere in the car now settled into a heavy, dull silence.

We were almost back at our place when I broke it. "Edwin, don't you think your relationship with Melissa is a little too intimate?"

He seemed to be in a fairly good mood. For once, he actually reached over and brushed the back of my hand with his fingers, like he was soothing a fussing pet.

"Are you jealous? Mellie and I have known each other since we were babies. If anything was going to happen between us, it would've happened long ago. You're the one I'm marrying. Isn't that enough?"

It most certainly wasn't, but in the end, I didn't say that. In the end, I slowly pulled my hand away and sighed.

"Are you free tomorrow? There's something I need to tell you," I said.

Edwin immediately frowned. "Must you tell me about it in person? You can just message me on WhatsApp and—"

His voice died out mid-sentence, probably because he finally recalled that I already knew the truth—that he wasn't the one who'd been answering my messages on WhatsApp for the past six months.

After a few seconds of silence, he changed his tune and said, "Fine. I'll make some time tomorrow."