I had been married to Derek for six years, and we had a three-year-old son.

He was poor, earning only $2,000 a month, but I had no complaints; I took care of everything at home for him.

After getting dinner on the table for the whole family, I finally had a minute to check my phone. A video popped up on my feed: a twenty-two-year-old girl from a rural area whose hands, roughened by years of hard labor, looked like they belonged to a sixty-two-year-old woman.

I looked down at my own hands, just as worn and scarred, and stared at them blankly before tapping into the comments.

I expected people to feel bad for her. However, to my surprise, the comments section was flooded with a single sentiment: "Why would anyone marry a penniless loser?"

One of the top-liked comments came from a couple; in their photo, they were pictured holding hands—fingers tightly intertwined—with the girl sporting a massive diamond ring.

The accompanying caption read: "A man who truly loves you would never bear to let you suffer."

I felt a pang of envy. Given the choice, who wouldn't want a glamorous life?

As I was about to close the app, I accidentally tapped on the couple's photo, enlarging it. In the background, previously too blurry to make out, was a face I recognized.

It looked exactly like my husband, Derek Sterling.

I froze, and almost against my will, I tapped into the account's profile.

Post after post of lavish photos of them together flooded my screen.

And then I saw him clearly.

The scar above his brow, the one he got when a shelf fell on him while protecting me, was still plainly visible.

It was my husband. It was Derek.

"It's Daddy!" Three-year-old Jamie came running over to call me for dinner, but the moment he saw the photo on my phone, he squealed with delight.

My mind went completely blank.

In six years with Derek Sterling, I had never once seen him smile like that -- completely carefree, relaxed in a way I didn't recognize.

Because our life together had always been defined by poverty and hardship.

Derek and I met during our sophomore year of college. After sharing an elective class, he started showing up around me, always flashing that wide, easy grin.

He was good-looking. The hoodies he wore never showed a brand name, but they fit him well.

People that easy to be around are usually either deeply loved or loaded.

I guessed it was the latter.

At the time, I was consumed with worry over my dad's health and the mounting medical bills. I wasn't in the headspace for some guy flirting with me.

Later, we were randomly assigned to the same group project. I assumed he'd be the type to coast and leech off everyone else's work, but he turned out to be the most dedicated of us all.

Researching, building the presentation, drafting the talking points -- he practically carried the whole project by himself.

The more time we spent together, the more he surprised me. I learned that he came from a perfectly ordinary, loving family.

I let my guard down.

As my dad's condition worsened, I started splitting my time between the hospital and campus.

Derek heard about it somehow and began showing up at the hospital every other day.

"What are you doing here?"

"Helping out." He set down the thermos he'd brought. "My mom made soup. Have some. Your dad should have some too."

He brought me meals. He sat with my dad so I could rest. He kept an eye on the IV so I could close my eyes for a few minutes.

When I was too exhausted to stay upright, he'd let me lean against him and sleep.

One night, my dad had a sudden hepatic encephalopathy episode and needed an emergency transfer to the city hospital.

I stood alone in the hallway, completely lost.

It was Derek who ran back and forth arranging the ambulance. It was Derek who packed our things. It was Derek who rode with us all the way to Metropolitan Medical Center.

That night, sitting in the back of the ambulance, I looked at him across from me.

He had fallen asleep against the wall, his face drawn with exhaustion, his brow still furrowed even in sleep.

And I remember thinking: if only I could have someone like this beside me for the rest of my life.

That exhausted face from my memory blurred together with the carefree, beaming face on my phone screen.

For a moment, I couldn't tell which one was really him.

The most recent post was geotagged at a tropical island.

In the photo, he wore an expensive light blue button-down I'd never seen before, his arm around the woman as they stood by the ocean. The sunlight was perfect, making his smile impossibly bright.

"Celebrating Mr. Sterling's promotion! He's officially a junior executive now!"

He'd been telling me lately that work was crazy, always rushing off the phone, but he'd reassure me:

"There's been a ton of orders lately. It's exhausting, but we're getting closer to our goal."

All I could do was tell him to take care of himself, not to push too hard.

I never imagined that his version of "busy" wasn't what I thought it was.

In my mind, he was in the city working as a delivery driver.

During our senior year, my dad's condition deteriorated rapidly. Hospitalizations, paracentesis, albumin infusions, liver dialysis -- every procedure cost a fortune.

Years of treatment had already buried us in debt.

When I needed money the most, Derek brought me his family's savings.

The doctor told us that finding a matching liver donor was nearly impossible and that we should prepare ourselves for the worst.

During that time, Derek visited every hospital he could find, asking whether he could be a living donor -- whether they could transplant part of his liver to my dad.

The tests came back incompatible. It couldn't be done.

But I will never forget how he held me and said, "Ella, I'm so sorry."

He had done everything he possibly could, and he still felt like he'd failed me.

I thought I had found true love.

After my dad passed, Derek said he'd go to the city with a college friend to work and help me pay off the medical debts.

I wanted to go with him, but he said the city was no place for me. He told me to stay home with his parents -- I wouldn't have to work myself to the bone, and I could help look after them on his behalf.

I couldn't refuse. After all, the old couple had given us their life savings for my dad's treatment.

I owed them that much.

When he first got to the city, he said the pay in his field wasn't enough, so he started doing deliveries, working fourteen-hour days.

Knowing he couldn't afford distractions while riding his bike, I rarely reached out to him. When I missed him too much, I'd send a text and wait for him to call when he had time.

I never imagined that his time was actually spent on another woman.

Bars. Restaurants. Movie theaters.

Every hour I thought he was out there hustling for our future, he was actually living a life I couldn't imagine.

While I sat there staring at my phone, Jamie toddled over on tiptoe, reaching for it.

He was practically bouncing: "Who's that next to Daddy?"

I panicked, locked the screen, and pressed the phone against my chest. My throat tightened.

"...Go tell Grandma and Grandpa dinner's ready."

Jamie ran off obediently. I moved through the motions mechanically -- setting out the food, fixing plates, coaxing my son to eat.

But the images I'd just seen kept flashing through my mind.

Four years.

I had always felt like I owed Derek's parents. I took on every household chore without being asked.

Shortly after he left, I discovered I was pregnant.

My first instinct was not to keep the baby. We were in no position to raise a child.

But Derek came home, held me, and wept. He said he felt useless for not being able to save my father. He begged me to keep our child. He swore he would work himself to the bone to give us a good life.

Once again, his tears and his sincerity moved me. I kept the baby.

Believing he was out there from dawn to dusk doing deliveries, I couldn't bring myself to spend the few thousand dollars he wired home each month.

Once Jamie was a little older, I started picking up odd jobs while looking after him -- washing dishes, waitressing, working the register. I tried everything.

I thought if we could just save up enough, I'd open a small shop, and he could come home, and we'd finally be together again.

We were almost there...

That night, after I got Jamie to sleep, I sat alone in the pitch-dark living room and opened that account again.

"Sunny Side." That was her username.

I scrolled to the very first post and started reading.

It was from exactly four years ago.

"Celebrating Derek's graduation!" In the photo, she was making a silly face, holding a cake up to a man who was grinning from ear to ear.

So on the day my father died -- the day Derek said he was at a hospital out of state searching for a donor and couldn't make it back in time -- he was celebrating.

The third post from the bottom was at a nightclub.

"Mr. Sterling's feeling down tonight. We're not going home until we're wasted."

The photo showed the reflection in a cocktail glass, his profile barely visible.

The day I was pregnant and we were supposed to go to the courthouse for our marriage license -- the day he said he'd come down with a terrible flu and slept through the whole day -- he'd been out drinking.

A post from three years ago, at an upscale restaurant.

"Mr. Sterling finally popped the question! He says I'm the only woman he'll ever want to marry."

The photo showed the woman's radiant smile, her hand extended to show off a massive diamond ring. In the background, Derek's profile was faintly visible. He was cutting a steak with effortless elegance, like something out of a movie.

And on the day Jamie was born -- the day Derek said he'd gotten into a bike accident while rushing to the hospital and couldn't make it -- he was on one knee for someone else.

All these years, I had only been a footnote in his life.

He came back to play his part when he needed to, and went back to his real life when he didn't.

All the warmth I thought I'd found in our suffering, all the support I thought I'd found in despair, all the devotion I believed we shared in poverty -- it was all just a fantasy I'd constructed on my own.

His world held so many things I never knew about.

His timeline was filled with moments that made a mockery of everything I'd felt.

Tears dripped onto the screen.

The further I scrolled, the colder I became.