When Matthew woke up, he pinched my cheek like everything was fine and brushed away the leftover tears on my face.

"You stayed up late watching dramas again?" he said. "C'mon, don't cry. It's all fake—they always get a happy ending."

I didn't say a word. Just rolled out of bed like I didn't hear him.

Still tied his stupid tie, though. Like always.

He gave me this soft, pitying look, kissed my forehead—slow and gentle, like he still cared. "Go back to sleep, okay? Don't stay up so late. I worry about you."

And for a second, staring into those familiar eyes, I actually almost believed last night was just some twisted dream.

Like maybe he still loved me.

"It's your birthday today, so I'll let you off the hook," he said. "Might be busy tonight, but I'll try to come home early."

I froze.

Her messages flashed through my head again.

[Matt, remember to help me set up the desktop tomorrow.]

[We're playing that co-op game together!]

[Goodnight!]

Right. The new trending couple's game. They had plans.

I grabbed his wrist, my voice shaking. "You haven't really spent time with me in forever. Not even today?"

He hesitated. Then smiled like nothing was wrong and ruffled my hair. "Of course I'll come home early. But there's a lot going on at work. Be good. Wait for me."

Then he peeled my hand off like it meant nothing.

And just like that, my heart shattered.

I used to pull all-nighters gaming with him when we were building the company from scratch. I couldn't sleep, but I still stayed up with him.

Later, I started having trouble sleeping at night.

He used to worry about me. Gave up our dream of turning the spare room into a gaming setup because I couldn't handle the sleep schedule.

Now he's out here building that exact setup—for her. Playing couple's games like it's their thing.

The door clicked shut, and my brain just... shut down with it.

He still left.

Matthew still left.

I sat there for hours, empty and starving, until my stomach actually cramped. I ordered takeout—all our old favorites. Forced it down.

Then threw it all back up.

Everything I gave up for him during those early grind years? Yeah. It all came back to haunt me.

Four years dating. Two years married. Most of it spent helping him build the company from the ground up.

I schmoozed with investors, toasted with strangers, drank till I puked just to keep him moving forward.

Then the company went public. And surprise—turns out years of bad sleep and heavy drinking aren't great for your body.

Doctor said I needed to rest. Gain weight. Get healthy if I ever wanted a baby.

So I stepped back. Became the perfect little housewife.

I was trying. Trying to build a life with him. A family.

He was all I had left. My parents died in a car crash on their way to visit me. Just gone.

I had nowhere to put that grief, so I poured everything into this tiny family.

But now? The baby wasn't coming.

And Matthew was slipping away too.

I kept vomiting until there was nothing left in me—literally and emotionally. Then I collapsed on the couch and let the ache in my chest crawl into every inch of me.

I don't even know how long I sat there. Just... stuck.

Eventually, night swallowed the room.

Then my phone lit up.

I jumped—thought maybe, finally, it was him.

It wasn't.

Just a message from an unknown number.

A pregnancy report. And a photo.

Matthew was in it.

Smiling.

Posed. Happy.

My chest caved in. The tears hit hard, fast—huge and burning.

My phone slipped from my hand and cracked against the floor.

But not before I saw the full name on the report.

Vivian Blake.

Just like I thought last night.

Out of all the interns from six months ago, she stood out. Like a little sunbeam—bright, bubbly, fake as hell.

Always orbiting around me, all, "Peyton, can I ask you something?" with those wide, innocent eyes. Pretending to need advice about "relationships." Please.

And I told her—smiling, clueless—"You get what you give."

Guess I gave her my marriage.

Don't know what hit me, but I grabbed my phone and deleted those two messages.

Then I just sat there. Quiet. Numb. Waiting for Matthew to come home like a total fool.

Midnight crept in. I kept calling. Straight to voicemail.

Time ticked past twelve. My legs were completely numb when the door finally opened.

"Baby, I'm so sorry," Matthew said, like nothing was on fire. "I dropped the cake on the way back, had to get another one made. Took a bit longer. Happy birthday!"

He held up the cake like it was some grand gesture. Then pulled out a dainty little gift box.

Diamond bracelet. Just like last year's—same energy, slightly tweaked design.

I held out my wrist so he could clasp it on. Smiled. Let tears blur my vision.

At least he still put effort into the lie. At least I got something. Yay me.

I pretended everything was fine. Helped him cut the cake. We lit two candles—for two years of marriage.

Then I saw it. The fruit.

Mango.

I froze.

Matthew noticed instantly. "What's wrong?"

He asked again. And again. But my heart had already dropped into the abyss.

Back in high school, our teacher brought a giant mango cake to celebrate the SATs. Everyone lost it, smearing cake everywhere like it was a food fight from a coming-of-age movie.

It was fun—meant to be good luck.

Matthew joined in—smeared it right across my face.

Too bad I'm allergic to mango.

I ended up in the hospital for a week, face swollen beyond recognition.

He cried back then. Literally sobbed. Held my swollen face and promised:

"I'll remember everything. From now on, what matters to you matters to me."

And he meant it. When he couldn't even afford a decent phone, he stuck post-its all over his desk.

[Peyton doesn't eat cilantro.]

[Peyton hates ginger.]

[Peyton likes spicy and sour.]

[Peyton is allergic to mango.]

When he finally got a smartphone, those notes became his lock screen.

But now? His lock screen's the default one. Blank. Like I never existed.

When did that change?

Probably around the time Vivian Blake started calling him 'Matt.'

"Peyton?"

His voice snapped me out of it. Still soft. Still concerned.

And despite everything—despite knowing better—his face still made my chest ache.

"I'm fine," I said.

He didn't believe me. Of course he didn't. Pulled me into a hug, whispering, "It's okay. You can tell me anything. If something's wrong, I'll fix it. But if you don't say it, how will I know?"

For a second, I nearly told him.

But I didn't.

I just smiled.

And shook my head.

"I was just thinking about how fast time's flown," I said. "All these years together... kinda hit me outta nowhere."

Matthew smiled, tapped my nose. "Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere. We've got decades ahead of us."

Decades?

The word echoed in my head like a joke with a mean punchline.

Once trust is gone, all that's left is paranoia and pain. A lifetime of that? No thanks.

I forced a smile. "Alright. Decades it is. Let's light the candles."

As soon as I put the lighter down, the glow outside the window blinked out.

Suddenly, the candles were the only thing keeping the room from drowning in dark.

I checked my phone—12:30.

Matthew stood, walked to the big window. "Everything's out. Must be a blackout."

Then I remembered. "Oh—right. The building manager sent an email. Power was supposed to cut after midnight for maintenance."

He came back, still calm, still playing the part. "Kinda romantic, actually. Whole neighborhood's going dark just for your birthday. Make a wish."

I shut my eyes.

Right before everything went black, his phone lit up on the table.

And just like that, the pain came crashing back, sharp and ugly.

Eyes still closed, I peeked. Barely.

Matthew was unlocking his phone, frowning at a message. His face said everything.

It was her. I didn't even need to look.

My chest clenched. I closed my eyes again, but my head was spinning.

What do you wish for when the thing you want is already slipping through your fingers?

I wished I wouldn't die.

I wished I'd get pregnant.

I wished he'd cut her off.

Would any of it come true? Doubt it. My birthday was already over.

Then a ringtone cut through the silence.

I flinched, eyes flying open.

Matthew looked like he'd just been caught cheating on a test—fumbling to hang up before I could see.

I raised an eyebrow. "Why aren't you answering?"

He panicked. Obviously. It wasn't just some random ringtone—it was a custom one. Soft, girly, humming some love song like a lullaby.

Hers?

Before I could ask, the call ended. Then it rang again.

Matthew scrambled to stand up, but in the rush, he knocked over the whole cake—candles, frosting, everything—right onto my favorite dress.

Huge. Mango-colored. Stain.

"I'm so sorry, baby. Don't move, I'll clean it up."

He grabbed the mess, dumped his phone on the table.

But I knew better. This wasn't love. This was panic dressed up as guilt.

As soon as he left the room, I picked up his phone.

The message was still up.

[Matt, the power's out. I think someone knocked on my door. I'm scared. Can you come check?]

Vivian. Of course.

I put the phone back just as he walked in, cloth in hand. His eyes darted to the screen.

Nothing changed. He relaxed.

Cold crept up my spine.

I looked him dead in the eye. "What's wrong? You seem... distracted. Got somewhere to be?"

For a second, I thought he'd flinch. Thought maybe he'd feel something.

But he just stared at me, then sighed like it physically hurt him.

"Baby, something urgent came up at work. I might need to head out."