u/n_a_writter

Those two weeks were the longest Melissa and I had been apart since we started dating. A year earlier, I had gone out of town for a two-day training, and during those two days, Melissa never stopped telling me how much she missed me and how she couldn't wait for me to come home.

This time was different. We had barely spoken since she left for her sister's house.

I thought the news about the new job would relieve her worries and make her come back home.

It didn't.

I was certain there was something she wasn't telling me.

I didn't want to assume anything. So I texted her and asked if we could talk.

She didn't reply right away.

About an hour later, she called as I was driving to the station.

She told me she had been sleeping a lot and feeling nauseous.

For a moment, I told myself the pregnancy was the reason she was acting this way. I thought we were going to get through this and build a family together.

But then I asked if she wanted to come home that weekend.

She said she wasn't ready.

And that made me suspicious again.

Out of nowhere, she started complaining about our apartment.

"It's too small," she said. "Our kid can't grow up there."

Maybe she was right. Raising a kid in a small one-bedroom apartment wasn't ideal. But it was only going to be temporary. We were planning to build a house.

She had a problem with that, too.

"The house we picked is also small," she said. "It won't be a good place to raise our kid either."

For the firt time, part of me felt that Melissa was using our unborn child to manipulate me.

That wasn't like her.

None of this was.

And I couldn't understand why she was acting this way.

It was almost time for my shift, so we agreed to talk again the next day.

In reality, I was the one who needed more time to think.

I was supposed to give my two weeks' notice that day. I decided to wait.

I hadn't told anyone what was happening between Melissa and me. But that night, I needed to get it off my chest.

I was about to tell my buddy Caleb when the dispatcher toned us out.

"Engine 1. Ladder 5. Working fire... Residential home."

That dispatch wasn't like any other.

We headed to the address immediately, and as we pulled up, I recognized the house in the mountains.

It was where Melissa and I had stayed a few months earlier.

We were the first engine to arrive on scene. Our captain was already outside.

"Heavy fire on the Bravo side," he said. "Neighbors report a man and woman possibly trapped inside."

"It must be the owners," I said. "I know them."

The captain asked for their descriptions.

"He's around thirty. Thin build. About six-four. His wife is the same age. She should be about six months pregnant by now."

A scream came from inside the house.

We hurried.

The hose crew attacked the fire while my buddy Caleb, another firefighter, and I forced our way inside.

You couldn't see a thing. The living room was filled with thick smoke. Thankfully, I still remembered the layout of the house.

Caleb and the other firefighter went to check the room beside the kitchen while I headed toward the back.

The guest bathroom was empty. So was the hallway.

Then I reached the master bedroom.

And there was a man crouched beneath the window, coughing so hard he could barely breathe.

I rushed over.

It was Ryan, our builder.

"I've got you!" I shouted. "I've got you!"

I helped him out of the room and hurried through the living room. Just as I reached the front door, I heard someone shout.

"Stop! Stop!"

Seconds later, part of the ceiling collapsed directly in front of me.

I froze.

One more step and I would've been underneath it.

Other firefighters rushed in, took Ryan from me, and guided me outside.

More engines had arrived by then, pouring water onto the fire from every direction.

The paramedics sat me in the ambulance to check me over.

Thankfully, I was fine.

Calep had already gotten out seconds before me.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get you out of here. You almost died in there."

He put a hand on my shoulder and started leading me toward the engine.

I glanced back to the other ambulance.

The paramedics were loading Ryan inside.

Caleb gently tried to turn me away.

But it was too late.

A woman was standing beside Ryan.

She looked up.

It wasn't his wife.

It was Melissa.

Note: I post as I write. Comment Updateme to be notified when the final part of this story comes out. Thank you for reading me.

My girlfriend Melissa (30F) and I (42M) never argued. Whenever she talked, I listened. If she was anxious and cried, I consoled her.

We also enjoyed ourselves. We would go hiking and fishing every weekend on Olympia Mountain, which we both loved. We envisioned ourselves building a house nearby. We were already looking at plans and talking with builders. One of them even allowed us to stay at his house at the perfect spot for a weekend while he was out of town so we could be sure it was what we wanted. We absolutely loved it, and we were ready to move forward and eventually start a family together.

I had never felt so happy or lucky in any relationship I'd ever had. I was certain Melissa was the one. I was going to do everything I could not to mess it up.

But something changed after our stay there.

One night, about a month later, she stayed up all night waiting for me to come home from the fire department. It was the first time she had ever done that since we had moved in together a year earlier.

"We can't keep living like this," she said.

I let her tell me everything she was feeling.

"I worry you won't make it home. And..." She paused and didn't speak for another second.

I still didn't say anything. I could sense she just needed to be heard. I walked closer to her and reached for her hands, but she waved me off.

"And I don't want our future kids to worry about you either," she added.

She calmed down a little and finally told me she was pregnant. I was shocked and happy at the same time.

We had talked about having a family, but we weren't really trying.

"That's great, baby," I said, hugging her. "I love you."

She didn't say it back.

"I need to know if you'd quit your job," she said.

I didn't know how to respond. I was a third-generation firefighter. Fire and rescue were all I had ever known; they were all I had ever wanted to do.

I told her everything was going to be alright, but she didn't want to hear it.

"I can't. I can't," she cried.

Then she told me she was going to stay with her sister for a few days.

I reminded myself that she was the one and that a child was more important than a job.

"Yes. I'll quit," I finally said.

She burst into tears and told me how much she appreciated that I would do that for her and our family. But she didn't want to stay alone at night while I was still working my shifts.

So we agreed that she would stay with her sister until I found a different job.

Two weeks went by, and I received an offer to work in an office at a national center for disaster preparedness and evacuation.

I reached out to Melissa and told her I had accepted the offer. She replied a day later via text:

"When is your first day?"

I didn't feel like I was talking to the same person, and later that month, I learned why.

Note: this is a work of fiction. I post as I write. I'll be posting what happens next!

My girlfriend Melissa (30F) and I (42M) never argued. Whenever she talked, I listened. If she was anxious and cried, I consoled her.

We also enjoyed ourselves. We would go hiking and fishing every weekend on Olympia Mountain, which we both loved. We envisioned ourselves building a house nearby. We were already looking at plans and talking with builders. One of them even allowed us to stay at his house at the perfect spot for a weekend while he was out of town so we could be sure it was what we wanted. We absolutely loved it, and we were ready to move forward and eventually start a family together.

I had never felt so happy or lucky in any relationship I'd ever had. I was certain Melissa was the one. I was going to do everything I could not to mess it up.

But something changed after our stay there.

One night, about a month later, she stayed up all night waiting for me to come home from the fire department. It was the first time she had ever done that since we had moved in together a year earlier.

"We can't keep living like this," she said.

I let her tell me everything she was feeling.

"I worry you won't make it home. And..." She paused and didn't speak for another second.

I still didn't say anything. I could sense she just needed to be heard. I walked closer to her and reached for her hands, but she waved me off.

"And I don't want our future kids to worry about you either," she added.

She calmed down a little and finally told me she was pregnant. I was shocked and happy at the same time.

We had talked about having a family, but we weren't really trying.

"That's great, baby," I said, hugging her. "I love you."

She didn't say it back.

"I need to know if you'd quit your job," she said.

I didn't know how to respond. I was a third-generation firefighter. Fire and rescue were all I had ever known; they were all I had ever wanted to do.

I told her everything was going to be alright, but she didn't want to hear it.

"I can't. I can't," she cried.

Then she told me she was going to stay with her sister for a few days.

I reminded myself that she was the one and that a child was more important than a job.

"Yes. I'll quit," I finally said.

She burst into tears and told me how much she appreciated that I would do that for her and our family. But she didn't want to stay alone at night while I was still working my shifts.

So we agreed that she would stay with her sister until I found a different job.

Two weeks went by, and I received an offer to work in an office at a national center for disaster preparedness and evacuation.

I reached out to Melissa and told her I had accepted the offer. She replied a day later via text:

"When is your first day?"

I didn't feel like I was talking to the same person, and later that month, I learned why.

Edit 1: Note: This is a work of fiction. I post as I write, so I'll be sharing what happens next as the story unfolds!

Part 5

I unfolded the paper and looked at it.

I read it multiple times. I checked the back. Then I looked at the front again.

Emilia had left behind a flyer for an art show scheduled for that evening.

There was nothing else on it.

No handwritten notes.

No explanations.

Nothing.

I told myself it meant something. That she was communicating with me in the only way she could. And that piece of paper was her way of letting me know.

I kept checking her TikTok page. I had left her messages and comments. She hadn't responded to any of them. I didn't expect her to. She only answered the first few comments on her videos.

My only chance for her to see my comment was if I posted it right away.

She usually posted in the evenings, but she didn't upload anything that day. I turned on notifications and waited for anything she might post.

I went to bed and couldn't sleep. I thought of every possible reason Emilia had been forced to act that way. Anything she could be struggling with. Maybe it was abuse. Maybe it was rich-people problems I knew nothing about.

Whatever it was, I felt the woman who was with Emilia had something to do with it.

I had never seen her when I was dating Emilia. And when she showed up on our wedding day, things changed.

Emilia was different too. For the first time, I noticed her worrying about the cameras.

I didn't think much of it back then.

Maybe it meant something.

I got out of bed and searched online for anything I could find about that woman. 

I started checking every post across Emilia's public social media platforms. 

She didn't show up on any post. 

There was a post about Emilia's past that stood out. It talked about her brand and how she started it when she was twenty five years old. Her mom had remarried, and the man she introduced me to was actually her stepfather.

I checked her YouTube page. Her earliest videos were from when she was fifteen. They showed her trying on clothes, experimenting with makeup, cheering at football games, and documenting family trips.

Her stepfather was everywhere.

Driving her to events. Filming her videos.

The more I watched, the more I noticed him.

He appeared so often that it was hard to imagine he wasn't involved in every part of her life.

After she started her clothing and makeup brand, he was no longer in the videos. 

According to Emilia, he was a billionaire. But he didn't look like one. 

I didn't know what to make of it.

The next day, I stumbled across the Instagram profile of someone Emilia followed.

I recognized her immediately.

It was the woman.

I searched her name online and found she worked in public relations.

Then I looked up the company she worked for.

It was two blocks from the restaurant.

I headed to work that day and walked by the building. I stopped and sat on a bench across from it. I waited to see if the woman would come out.

An hour later, I headed to the restaurant and rushed inside.

"Late again?" my manager asked.

"Some road work messing everything up," I said. "It won't happen again."

I had always been punctual. That week, I was late every day. 

I was exhausted. Distracted. All I could think about was that I should be waiting to talk to that woman instead of being stuck in the restaurant.

I waited until my shift ended and headed out.

"Hey, man," Manuel called after me as I was leaving.

I paused.

"You alright?" He asked. "You look like you haven't slept in days."

I hadn't.

I hadn't shaved. I hadn't eaten either.

"I... I just need..." I started, but couldn't finish.

At that moment, I felt like I needed to talk to someone.

"I saw Emilia," I said.

He looked surprised. "She showed up?"

I told him everything that happened. I told him about the woman. About what I had found out about her. That I had been wanting outside her office building. 

Manuel looked at me like I was insane.

"You're obsessing over this," he said. "I've never seen you like this."

"I'm fine."

"You're not. Let's go back inside. I'll give you a ride home after my shift."

At that moment, my phone chimed. I looked at it and saw a notification from TikTok.

I immediately opened it.

And it was a video from Emilia.

Not her usual kind of video.

Not a video for her fans. 

It was a video for me.

Edit: working on what happens next! Comment Updateme to get notified. Thanks for reading me :)

Part 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/stories/s/pFe4PJcSUl

Part 4: https://www.reddit.com/r/stories/s/VwnsyOxY1C

Every day that week, I stayed on the rooftop after my shift. Part of me hoped I would see Emilia there.

One evening, Manuel caught me glancing at the spot where she and I had sat the night we met.

"You need to forget about her," he said as he mixed a drink behind the bar.

I sat across from him.

"I'm trying."

He wanted to say something else but hesitated.

"She is not coming back," he finally said. "She would've shown up already if she cared about you."

"Nothing makes sense," I said. "I wish I could just talk to her so I can move on."

He wiped down the counter, then paused.

"There's something you need to see."

He pulled out his phone and searched for a few seconds. "The blogger showed me this the day before the wedding." He turned the screen toward me.

It was a TikTok page.

Emilia's profile.

I hadn't seen it before. She hadn't mentioned having millions of people interested in her life.

"She has videos with every boyfriend she's ever had. But you? It's like you never existed," Manuel said, scrolling through her profile. "You're telling me she documented every relationship except the one that ended at the altar?"

I knew he was trying to help me move on. But maybe Emilia wanted to keep our relationship private, which I preferred anyway.

I took his phone and scrolled through her posts. There were videos from vacations, parties, and events. There were videos of her showing off her designs.

"She kept posting like nothing happened. She moved on, man."

Manuel kept talking, but I stopped listening. 

I just looked at Emilia's latest posts. She had uploaded three videos that week at an art gallery with a sculpture garden. In the background, I recognized Seattle's waterfront.

The only thought in my head was that I could find Emilia there.

"Where are you going?" Manuel asked as I stood.

"I just need some air."

A part of me felt I should just listen to Manuel, but I couldn't stop myself. 

I had a strong feeling I could finally find her.  

I searched every art gallery along the waterfront on my phone.

I found three. I couldn't be sure which one Emilia had been going to unless I checked them out in person.

So I did. I went to every single one. 

I checked the first gallery. It wasn't the right one.

It wasn't the second one either. 

When I stepped into the third gallery, I immediately recognized the garden. I found it.

I looked around. 

Emilia she wasn't there.

Of course she wasn't. But I couldn't stop myself. 

I kept coming back... every day.

By the seventh day, I felt stupid. I felt like the biggest idiot on the planet. 

I had been denying to myself that Manuel was right. That I needed to listen to the part inside me that told me I needed to move on. I needed to forget her once and for all.

I waited at the bus stop across from the gallery, staring at the busy street.

I spotted someone walking out of a coffee shop right next to the gallery.

"Emilia," I whispered.

For a moment, I thought I was imagining her. But it was her... she was real.

"Emilia!" I shouted, already rushing toward the crosswalk.

My heartbeat raced.

I pushed through the crowd and reached the median.

She wasn't alone. The same woman who had stood beside her at the altar was with her.

The woman saw me first. She froze when she recognized me. She whispered something to Emilia as she grabbed her arm and steered her toward an SUV pulling up to the curb.

Emilia looked back.

For a second, it seemed like she might run towards me. Then her expression tightened. 

Right before she got into the SUV, she let a piece of paper she'd been carrying fall from her hand onto the sidewalk.

I hurried to where Emilia had been standing just as the SUV drove off.

I looked down and there it was, lying on the ground: a folded piece of paper she had left behind.

At that moment, I felt it again. Emilia had been trying to tell me something she couldn't say aloud, just as I'd felt she had at the altar.

I couldn't shake the feeling that the woman was the reason Emilia was acting that way. Maybe I was reading too much into it. Maybe I wasn't. 

All I could think was that the paper might have some answers. That maybe Emilia left it behind for a reason. 

Edit: Sorry everyone ...I messed up the title again... I added more to the story so it wasn't too short.

Link to part 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/stories/s/5VGMQBlmO1

Link to part 3: https://www.reddit.com/r/stories/s/SaEEgdsxtK

I'm working on what happens next. Comment Updateme to get notified (: Thank you for reading me. Have a great weeding day 😂

I resisted as security dragged me outside. I didn't stop looking back at the altar.

"Emilia!" I didn't stop shouting.

That was the last time I saw her white dress.

Security let go of me on the gravel driveway. Seconds later, they brought out Manuel.

Some guests followed us outside. They stood by the entrance with their phones raised, recording us. The blogger Manuel had been talking with earlier that day was there too.

The moment I saw her, I felt she had something to do with this. That she had called security on us.

I insisted they let me back in and told them there had been a misunderstanding.

"You're trespassing and we'll call the police," they said.

Manuel wanted to leave right away.

"Let's go, man. Let's go. I don't want any trouble," he said, already shaking.

But I didn't move.

"Why would you call the police?" I asked. "We have done nothing wrong."

Their answer was that Emilia's father didn't want us on his property.

More guests came outside to watch. Within minutes, almost everyone was there.

Everyone, except Emilia and her father.

My eyes found the woman who had been with Emilia earlier that day. The same one who had held her back at the altar when everything happened.

I told myself she was probably a relative and that the two of them were close. Maybe she kept Emilia away from me until they could figure out what was going on.

I tried to get to her. I figured Emilia would've explained everything to her, but security wouldn't let me get close. She didn't even try to say anything either. She just stood there, watching.

I waited a few more seconds, convinced Emilia would come outside.

But she never did.

"The police are on their way," security said.

"Let's get out of here, man." Manuel pulled me.

The cabin's driveway and parking lot stretched across two acres. If it was true that Emilia's father wanted me off his property, I was technically trespassing. I didn't want any trouble, so I listened to Manuel, and we drove away.

I messaged Emilia on my way out.

I called her.

I kept trying to reach her after that.

Days went by, and I hadn't heard back from her.

We hadn't seen each other either. I didn't know where she lived. I had no way to find her.

It was as if she had just... disappeared.

I told myself I needed to forget about her and move on. But everywhere I went, I remembered her.

At the rooftop where we met.

At the park across from the restaurant where we used to spend every day together.

I kept catching myself reading old messages we had sent to each other.

I realized I cared for her more than I thought. That I missed her.

I refused to believe she had just ghosted me. That she didn't care about me.

Every night, Emilia's expression during those final moments at the altar replayed in my head on an endless loop. I felt as if she had wanted to say something but couldn't.

A month passed. I still couldn't stop thinking about it. Maybe it was all in my head. But I needed to know if I was going to move on. I needed to know if I was finally going to forget her.

Part 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/stories/s/5VGMQBlmO1

One long minute passed before Emilia finally spoke. She told me she didn't care that I wasn't wealthy or that I had lied. She insisted we still get married.

"You're the one," she said. "I want to marry you for who you are."

It took me a second to process her words. Part of me felt relieved that I hadn't broken her heart. The last thing I wanted was to hurt her. She was very special to me. And although I was still confused about my feelings for her, I started to believe we could build a life together, just like I had before coming to the cabin.

But another part of me felt there was something odd about the way she reacted. I didn't think much of it. I brushed the thought off.

A woman came to the hallway looking for Emilia. I didn't know who she was.

"Everything alright?" she asked.

Emilia nodded. "Yes. It's good."

They went back to the room and everything went on as if nothing had happened. The ceremony was set to begin in one hour.

I went to my room to change. Once I was ready, I headed downstairs. Guests were already seated. I stood at the altar. Then I saw Manuel, my best man, walking over.

He knew the lies I had told Emilia. I was going to tell him I'd finally come clean. But he didn't even let me speak.

"I've been looking for you," he whispered, his voice frantic with worry.

We stepped toward the back.

"I know you told me not to talk to anyone," he said, "but I couldn't help it."

"It doesn't matter anymore—" I started, but he cut me off again.

"I hooked up with one of the bloggers after the rehearsal dinner. We got to talking, and she told me she'd been covering Emilia's previous relationships. She said this one was the most romantic yet."

He paused, then lowered his voice even more.

"She even told me the headline for the blog post: The billionaire's daughter who had it all, and the ordinary man who stole her heart."

He shifted nervously.

"I freaked out, man. I told her you were rich too. That you worked in day trading. I told her everything you'd told me. But I don't know if she believed me."

At first, I thought maybe Emilia had contacted the blogger after our conversation.

"It's fine, Manuel," I said. "I told Emilia the truth."

But then I thought about Emilia's reaction from this morning. This time, I didn't push the thought away.

She hadn't asked me why I lied. She hadn't even asked me what I actually did for a living.

My chest tightened. Things were not adding up.

The music started, and moments later, the wedding party began walking in.

Manuel returned to the altar. He looked sick to his stomach.

I stood there trying to make sense of what was really going on.

Then Emilia walked down the aisle and stopped in front of me. She smiled, just like she always had.

The pastor started speaking.

When it was my turn to read my vows, I hesitated.

Emilia quickly started reading hers instead. She talked about how humble I was, how she'd instantly fallen in love, how different I was from the men she had dated before, and how she would love me forever for who I was.

I didn't say anything.

I started to remember things she did when we were dating, like how she never cared to see where I lived or commented on my simple wardrobe. I hadn't stopped to think about it then. But she would've said something... unless she'd known the entire time. Unless had played all along.

At that moment, something inside me broke.

"You knew," I whispered.

Her eyes darted around the room before she forced a nervous smile.

"What are you doing?" she mumbled.

Then, out of nowhere, a man shouted, "Stop this wedding!"

Everyone gasped. Everyone recognized him immediately. They were shocked to see him.

Except Emilia.

Her expression was impossible to read.

The man dropped to one knee in the middle of the aisle. He started apologizing to Emilia for cheating on her and publicly calling her names after their breakup. He said he couldn't move on without her by his side. It felt like it was taken out of a script.

I turned to Emilia. I couldn't have cared less about her past relationships. All I wanted to know was the truth.

"Did you pretend?" I pressed.

Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

Seconds later, security stormed in. I assumed they were there to take away Emilia's ex for interrupting a private wedding.

But they didn't even look at him.

They rushed straight to the altar.

Two of them grabbed my arms. The other two seized Manuel.

The woman who had come looking for Emilia earlier rushed to the altar. She pulled Emilia aside and whispered something on her ear.

Emilia stepped away from her and tried to reach for me. "You don't have to take him!"

The woman held her back.

Then they took me away.

Edit: Manuel and I were forced to leave the cabin.

I didn't know what to think.

I couldn't stop replaying Emilia's last expression. She wasn't smiling like she always did. There was something in her eyes, as if she wanted to say something she couldn't.

Later, I found out what she was trying to tell me.

Emilia (32F) and I (34M) had known each other for twenty days when I proposed.

We met on the rooftop of one of the finest restaurants in downtown Seattle.

I wasn’t supposed to be there. Not at that time.

My shift had ended an hour earlier, but I stayed a little longer to wait for my friend Manuel to finish his shift so he could give me a ride home.

The place wasn’t crowded that night. I found a seat at the bar and was chatting with Manuel when I saw Emilia at the other end. She was gorgeous. We looked at each other for a split second, then smiled.

Manuel noticed.

“Here.” He pulled out two glasses and a bottle of the finest wine.

“On the house,” he added.

I told him he didn’t need to do that, but he insisted.

“Man, you need this. Forget about what you’re going through for one night.”

His words hit me hard. I wished it were that easy. It had been about six months since my girlfriend of ten years left me for someone else, and I was barely functioning.

“That’s an expensive bottle, Manuel.”

He leaned forward. “A couple got a little too intimate and left me half the bottle. It’s yours now.”

I had no interest in starting a relationship.

Not then. Not there.

I knew exactly the type of people who went to the rooftop. A wealthy woman like her would never date someone like me.

But maybe I could pretend for one night that I was fine. That I belonged there.

I walked over to where Emilia was sitting.

“Care to finish this bottle with me?” I asked.

She stared at it a second too long. In that moment, I imagined she lived in a mansion with a wine cellar in the basement, and this bottle wasn’t impressive enough for her.

“Romanée-Conti,” she said. “I never would’ve guessed your taste in wine.”

I poured some into her glass and joined her at the bar.

We talked until midnight. She turned out to be charming and grounded.

We exchanged numbers, and after that night, we saw each other every day.

We went on long walks together. We talked on the phone for hours. She told me the story of how her father started a business and became a billionaire. She lived off her trust fund, but she wanted to build a career and make her own money.

To her, I worked in finance and had made a fortune day trading. My parents had also left me an inheritance worth a couple hundred million dollars.

I hadn’t realized until then how much pretending to be wealthy, and spending time with Emilia, helped me forget my problems.

Everything was going well. We never hung out at each other’s places, so she didn’t suspect anything.

I enjoyed her company very much. I could picture myself spending the rest of my life with her.

One night, I had a little too much to drink. Emilia was telling me how much she wanted to get married someday. One thing led to another, and I ended up asking her to marry me.

She said yes.

I didn’t have a ring, but she told me she had her grandmother’s ring and wanted to use that instead.

I was relieved.

I wanted to elope, but she didn’t. She wanted a big wedding.

The next day, she introduced me to her father. I was nervous about meeting him, but he didn’t ask many questions. Emilia had already told him all about me, so I was relieved I didn’t have to lie to one more person.

Emilia wanted to get married in a month. So did I. The faster we got married, the less likely she was to discover I had lied about my wealth and my parents.

I can’t deny that I started to feel guilty.

I didn’t tell my mother, who lived in Florida.

To Emilia, I had no family.

Everything was going well until the day before the wedding. Emilia’s father owned a large cabin in the woods, and we were going to get married there.

Our guests arrived for the weekend. I was meeting all of Emilia’s friends and family for the first time.

There were photographers, videographers, bloggers, and vloggers in almost every corner. My face was going to be everywhere.

I started to worry.

Someone could recognize me.

At the rehearsal dinner, Emilia introduced me to her college friends. We all chatted longer than I wanted to.

“Only twenty days?” one of her former roommates asked.

Emilia and I nodded.

“I’ve been with my boyfriend for five years,” another friend said. “He still hasn’t proposed.”

“Some couples just…” Emilia stared into my eyes, “…know after twenty days.”

She must have said some version of that at least twenty times that night.

“We can’t explain how love works,” I said.

Emilia smiled.

That night, Emilia and I slept in separate rooms.

I couldn’t sleep.

I couldn’t stop thinking about how it had all started with one small lie to one person. Then twenty more after that.

“And for what?” I whispered.

I asked myself why I had proposed to Emilia in the first place.

The answer came seconds later.

The next morning, on our wedding day, I headed to Emilia’s room. She and her bridesmaids were getting their makeup done.

I pulled Emilia into the hallway.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

I didn’t know where to begin. A cold sweat ran down my back. All I knew was that I had to tell her.

“I can’t marry you,” I said.

She stared at me without saying a word. I kept talking.

I told her I had spent all night thinking about why I was marrying her, and I realized I didn’t love her. I had used her to get through a painful breakup.

Then I told her the truth.

I didn’t have any money.

She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t cry.

She just looked at me.

Moments later, I discovered I wasn’t the only one lying about something.

Part 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/stories/s/bMwCAfSQXg

It was about six in the morning when someone knocked frantically on my door. Guests at my hostel stayed on the lower floors of the three-story house. My room was in the attic. No one would come all the way up here unless it was an emergency.

I quickly opened the door as I pulled my shirt on.

“Yeah?” I looked down toward the bottom of the wooden ladder.

It was her.

Angela.

I hadn’t stopped thinking about the night before. The weird things she had said. I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was testing me.

I climbed down. “What is it?”

She looked at me a second too long, scratching her legs.

“Bed bugs,” she said. “There are bed bugs in this place." She scratched her leg again. “I woke up covered in bites.”

I straightened.

Bed bugs?

Not in my hostel.

I checked every mattress myself. I vacuumed every seam. Every day.

I climbed down slowly. “We don’t have bed bugs here.”

“Well, you do,” she snapped. "I’m the one with bites all over my body.”

“I would know if we had an infestation."

She crossed her arms. “So, they just magically appeared on me?”

I didn’t answer right away.

It wouldn't be the first time it had happened. People stayed at different places every night. They carried the bugs from one hostel to another as they walked the trail.

I just hadn’t expected it from her.

“We need to get your stuff,” I said, already heading into the hallway.

“My stuff?” she asked, following.

“We need to get it out of my hostel right now.”

Her tone shifted. “Are you saying it’s my fault?”

I grabbed a garbage bag from the cleaning closet. “I’m saying we need to move fast.”

When we got to the room where she was staying, I tossed the bag on the bed.

“You need to put that backpack inside," I said. "And all of your clothes, too."

She shook her head. “I’m not giving you my stuff. Much less the clothes I’m wearing.”

“We need to scorch those son of bitches on high heat. If we keep them here, they’ll spread.”

I walked to the door. “You should take a shower. I’ll get you a cream to help with the itching.”

“How is this hostel even allowed to exist with an owner as rude as you?” she said.

I paused.

I reminded myself she had the power to shut down my hostel if she wanted. I told myself to put on a smile, say everything would be taken care of. But I started to think that no matter what I did, she would find a way to sabotage me.

I turned.

“Why don’t you just vote in favor of the overtourism law and see if my hostel survives it or not? Why come here at all?”

Marta had just stepped inside. Her mouth dropped open when she heard me.

She shot me a sharp look, then walked past me. “Señorita Angela,” she said, lifting the tray she was holding, “I brought you breakfast.”

There was fruit, croissants, and the best local Spanish cheese on the tray. I knew Marta was trying to help me win Angela over. But I also knew it was going to work.

“We don’t offer room service,” I told Marta.

Angela snatched the garbage bag from where I’d left it and shoved her backpack inside.

She took off her shirt and shorts and stood there, staring into my soul. “My sports bra, too?”

She started pulling it up. I looked away. It felt deliberate. Like another test.

“Keep that.” I took the bag from her and left the room.

“You can take a shower,” Marta told her. “I’ll bring a clean guest bathrobe.”

I went downstairs and tossed the bag with Angela’s things onto the patio. Marta came out minutes later.

“Mr. Lance. Are you crazy?”

I took things out of the bag without looking up.

“You don’t get it, Marta. Angela isn't just a guest. She came here to sabotage me.”

Marta stepped closer.

“Or maybe she's a worn-out hiker with bed bug bites and you're overthinking it.”

I turned to her. “Four women have shown up this week with weird requests. Angela is one of them.”

“I thought that was a misunderstanding, and you were going to apologize last night.”

“I did. And instead, she asked for a back rub like the other woman did.”

She reached for my arm.

“Mr. Lance,” she said, “not all women are an Emilia.”

There was silence.

My eyes narrowed. “What does my ex-fiancee have to do with anything?”

“I think it’s time for you to answer that question.”

Part 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/stories/s/nSwabrBiFZ

I was certain my hostel wasn't going to make it.

I needed to do some damage control. Fast.

I grabbed some bandages, cream, an ice pack, and… a candle. Women like candles.

I headed down the hallway to her room. I knocked on her door.

"Who is it?" she asked.

“It’s Lance, from the front desk,” I said. “I came to apologize.”

She opened the door slowly and just looked at me, her wet hair down. Somehow that made her even more attractive.

She noticed what I was holding.

“A candle?”

I glanced down and shook my head. “I don’t know why I grabbed that.”

There was an awkward silence.

“I’m not here for a massage,” she said flatly.

“I know,” I said quickly. “I know. This isn’t… I mean, it is, but not like that. Not...”

I stopped talking. The last time I didn’t, things went wrong.

She raised an eyebrow and didn’t speak. She just stood there, arms folded.

“I handled that badly,” I finally said. “I’ve had a few… strange requests lately. I thought this was the same thing. I was wrong. That’s on me.”

Another pause. Shorter this time.

Then she stepped aside.

“You can leave those there,” she said, pointing to the small table.

I walked in. Her flip-flops were kicked off near the wall.

Up close, the blisters looked rough.

I set everything down carefully.

She sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ll do it myself.”

“Of course,” I said.

She reached for the bandages, turning one over in her hand but not opening it.

I headed to the door.

“You know,” she said.

I paused.

“Every place I’ve stayed on this trail so far has known exactly who I am.”

I said nothing.

“They upgrade the rooms. Bring free food. Souvenirs,” she said. “They’re very careful with what they say.”

I swallowed.

“And yet,” she added, “you’re the first one who told me to leave.”

“I didn’t know who you were,” I said, ashamed.

“At least I know you were real. I’m not sure the others were.”

She stood up and stepped closer. Too close.

“And a back rub?” she asked.

I froze.

That was exactly what the second woman had told me.

“I thought you weren’t here for a massage,” I said carefully.

“It was just a question.”

“No,” I said.

I left her room feeling that what had been happening wasn't random.

​

So a few months ago, a woman walked up to me and asked if I could give her a foot massage.

It wasn’t unusual. Our guests were pilgrims, worn down from hours of walking across northern Spain. Blisters, sore arches, aching calves… you name it. I had helped with it all.

It was all fine until she rubbed her leg against my arm and smiled a little too warmly. She said it was an accident.

I didn’t think anything of it.

Two days later, someone else asked for a room, and then tried to throw in a back rub. She said she had some cream I could use.

I knew I hadn’t suddenly become irresistible. That’s when I started to get suspicious.

I went online and carefully read all fifty of the reviews of my hostel. I didn’t see anything strange.

Later that night, I was getting ready to close when someone walked in.

She paused just inside the doorway, slightly out of breath, one flip-flop barely hanging on. Dust coated her legs like she’d walked half the region by mistake.

I remember thinking: who wears flip-flops for this?

She brushed at the dirt, then looked up.

That woman was beautiful. She reminded me of someone, though I couldn’t place it, and it caught me off guard.

“Hola,” she said, her smile small and a little crooked.

She came closer. “The blisters are killing me.” Her backpack dropped to the floor. “And my calves… I need ice. And a massage.”

Something in me tightened.

Another one?

I can’t remember what got into me. Maybe I’d had enough of weird requests that could jeopardize my small business.

“If you’re here for anything other than a bed,” I said bluntly, “you can go somewhere else.”

Her head tilted. “I’m sorry?”

For a second, I almost stopped. Almost let it go.

But I kept going.

“I don’t do foot massages. Back rubs. None of that. I don’t know who told you otherwise.”

She blinked, then let out a short, disbelieving breath. “What makes you think I want a massage from a guy like you?”

“You just asked for one.”

“This is the worst hostel on the trail. I’ll make sure it gets shut down.”

Now it was getting personal. “You’re threatening my business because I didn’t agree to massage your calves?”

The woman snapped, “I just wanted a bed. Not a massage. Not from you. A bed.”

Before she could say anything, Marta, who worked in the kitchen, was heading for the door. Her entire face lit up when she saw the woman.

“Oh, señorita Angela,” Marta said, hurrying forward. “We were expecting you.”

I frowned. I didn’t care if Angela was Marta’s sister, she wasn’t staying in my hostel.

“We don’t have any more rooms,” I said.

Marta shot me a look sharp enough to cut.

“I’ll take her to the room,” Marta said quickly.

I didn’t argue. Not with Marta.

But the second they disappeared down the hall, I couldn't stop thinking where I had seen her before.

When Marta came back, she reached under the front desk and pulled out a folded newspaper.

“You should start reading these,” she said, pressing it into my hands. “This is a small town. How could you not know who she is?”

The front page stopped me cold.

Her face. Clear as day.

I looked down the hallway, then back at the paper.

“That’s not...”

“It is,” Marta said.

I stared at the name beneath the photo. Then back toward the hallway.

“What is the President of the Xunta de Galicia doing in my hostel,” I said slowly, “wearing flip-flops and pretending to be a pilgrim?”

Marta crossed her arms. “Angela is the deciding vote on the new tourism law. She announced she was going to be doing the trail.”

The words settled heavy in my chest.

“You might want to start worrying about getting the permit for your hostel approved," Marta added.

I stood there, speechless. If I had just stopped talking...

I was certain Angela was going to shut down my business.

So I got to work. The next few days were wild.