u/n_a_writter

My wife, Samantha, and I had a great marriage.

We were both animal lovers.

Hikers.

Sports enthusiasts.

When we got married, she was beginning a career in business, and I was a veterinarian at an animal clinic.

Every so often, people brought abandoned or abused animals to the clinic.

On my very first day at the clinic, a woman walked in with a dog.

"We bought a house," the woman said, "and the previous owners left her there."

I looked down at her feet, and there she was: an Australian shepherd with the sweetest eyes I'd ever seen. You could tell something was hurting her, yet she looked as though she was trying to smile.

We examined her and found that she had heartworms. The X-rays showed some damage to her heart. We explained the treatment she would need and what it would cost.

The woman stared at the dog for a long moment before speaking.

"I can't pay for that. She needs more care than I can give her."

Well, I was glad the shepherd couldn't understand English, because that wasn't the kind of thing anybody wanted to hear.

That dog had already been abandoned. She was probably wondering where her owners were.

I told the woman I'd take the dog to a shelter.

I called Samantha on my way there and told her what had happened.

"We need to bring her home," she said.

Those were the kindest words I'd heard all day.

I put the phone on speaker so the dog could hear it, or at least feel the warmth in it.

That night, I brought her home.

"I think Layla," Samantha said.

"No, she looks more like a Kira," I said.

"I hate that one."

"Kayla," I said.

Samantha smiled.

She didn't have to say anything. We both knew we'd found the right name.

From that day on, Kayla went almost everywhere with us: hardware stores, hiking trails, road trips.

Like many couples, we grew even closer because of our dog.

And so did the love between Samantha and me.

Bringing Kayla home was the best decision we'd made since getting married.

But things between Samantha and me changed a few months later.

Not because we stopped loving each other, but because more animals kept arriving at the clinic.

Just like Kayla, many of them weren't likely to be adopted because of chronic health problems.

So I brought them home.

Eventually, we had seven dogs and three cats living in our house.

That's when everything started to fall apart.

Samantha was barely home anymore.

"I can't stand the noise... all the extra cleaning," she said one night.

She held up her running shoes.

"They chewed them." Frustration filled her voice. "Please take them to the shelter."

"And let them die?" I asked.

"It wasn't you who abandoned them in the first place."

I knew she didn't mean that. She cried all night.

I brought up an idea I'd been dreaming about for years.

"What if I opened my own veterinary practice?" I asked.

"We don't have the money, James."

"We can use our savings."

We argued for hours that night.

I couldn't convince her.

She became more and more frustrated. She cried herself to sleep almost every night.

And just like that, the same decision that had once brought us closer slowly drove us apart.

A month later, she packed her things and moved in with a friend from college.

"I'll give you time to decide if this is the life you want," she said before she left.

About six months later, I opened my own practice and converted part of it into a rescue where animals could stay for as long as they needed.

Three months in, I was already sheltering fifteen dogs and two cats.

By that point, Samantha and I were still separated, but we hadn't stopped talking.

We texted every week or so.

We hadn't talked about divorce papers.

We hadn't talked about moving back in together, either.

My friend Ray and I were grabbing drinks one night.

"She should've come back already," he said. "Your house isn't full of dogs and cats anymore."

I'd been thinking about that.

I kept telling myself maybe Samantha just needed more time. But ten months felt like long enough. If we wanted to give our marriage another chance, we needed to see each other again. And there was one trip we'd planned that could be our chance to do that.

So, a week later, I called her.

"The hiking trip to Tuscany is coming up," I said.

"I know. I figured you'd cancel the tickets."

"What if we went?"

There was a long silence.

For a moment, I thought the call had disconnected.

"Are you there?" I asked.

"I am," she said quietly. "I guess we could go... if you want."

"Yes," I answered softly.

Samantha and I texted more frequently in the weeks after that. We shared our excitement about the nature trails we'd chosen for the hike.

For the first time in months, it felt like we were finding our way back to each other.

Everything was going smoothly until Ray texted me.

"I saw Samantha," he said.

He kept typing.

"On a dating app."

I didn't believe him until he sent screenshots.

Something inside me broke when I saw them. Maybe Samantha had lost hope in us. Or maybe she'd stopped loving me.

But I couldn't understand why she hadn't asked me for a divorce.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

Part of me felt I should fight for my marriage.

The other part told me to accept that it was over, even though neither of us had admitted it.

For two days, I thought about canceling the trip.

Every reason told me not to go.

But I kept remembering the woman I'd married. The one who'd told me to bring Kayla home without a second thought.

If there was even the smallest chance we could find our way back to each other, I owed it to us to take it.

So I went.

***

Samantha and I sat together on the plane for roughly seven hours.

We talked about how much we were looking forward to the scenery and the hiking trails.

I still believed this was our chance to get back together. I kept telling myself that Samantha's decision to get on a dating app didn't mean anything.

When we got to Tuscany, we spent the next week hiking through the countryside. We talked for hours, laughed, and enjoyed our time together.

It felt like we had never separated.

On our last night, we had dinner at a small restaurant near the hotel.

For the first time in ten months, we talked about getting back together.

It was the moment I'd been waiting for ever since we'd talked about coming.

But something had changed.

At that point, I couldn't keep denying to myself that she might have seen someone. Maybe it didn't mean anything.

But I needed to know why she'd done it.

More than anything, I needed to know why she was hiding it from me. 

So I pulled out my phone and showed her the screenshots Ray had sent me.

She stared at them for several seconds without saying a word.

"It's not what you think," she said.

"Tell me what you think I think. Because I don't understand why you would do this."

"I regretted everyday leaving. I regretted asking you to pick. I thought you wouldn't want to get back together. " 

"Even if our chances were gone, I couldn't have moved on so soon."

"I didn't date anyone. I swear. It was a stupid decision."

She pulled out her phone and showed me the messages in the app.

She had never responded to anyone.

I felt a wave of relief when I saw that. Yet part of me still felt there was something she wasn't telling me. 

But I ignored it.

When we got back to Washington, Samantha moved back into the house.

She started helping at the clinic. She helped feed the dogs, clean the kennels, and take them for walks.

We would take Kayla on short hikes and hang out on the front porch when we finished our workdays.

It almost felt like we were a family again.

Ray hadn't stopped messaging me, telling me that giving Samantha another chance was a mistake.

"She probably met someone and is hiding it from you," he said.

I started questioning whether I'd made the right decision. Whether there was something I wasn't seeing.

I couldn't stop thinking about it.

Some days, I thought about it all day.

One evening, Samantha took Kayla for a walk alone and left her phone on the kitchen counter.

A notification beeped.

I looked at the phone from where I was sitting.

Then I looked away.

I'd never checked Samantha's messages during the five years we'd been married. It had never even crossed my mind to do that.

Not once.

I knew looking would be wrong.

But something told me that if I didn't, I might spend the rest of my life wondering whether Samantha had told me everything.

So I picked up the phone and read the message.

"I miss you."

My stomach tightened when I looked at the sender.

It wasn't from some random guy she'd met online.

It was from Ray.

My friend. The best man at my wedding.

Maybe there was an explanation. Maybe I was misunderstanding what I was seeing.

I stood there for several minutes, staring at the phone.

Then, I looked at their conversation.

Samantha had texted Ray after we came back from Tuscany, telling him they couldn't see each other again. She asked him never to talk about what had happened.

I checked the earlier messages. 

They started talking before Samantha and I had separated. 

I put the phone down and sat in the chair.

I couldn't cry.

I couldn't even get angry.

I just felt empty.

When Samantha came back from the walk, she smiled at me.

Then she noticed my expression.

"What happened?" she asked.

I looked at her.

"How long?"

Her smile disappeared.

"What?"

"How long before telling me about Ray?"

She froze.

For several seconds, neither of us said anything.

"It was one night," she finally said. "I felt like a horrible person after I asked you to abandon the dogs. Ray offered a shoulder to cry on."

She burst into tears.

I remembered how she had barely been home during those days leading to our separation.

"We have only texted since then, James. I swear."

I felt something inside me break.

I looked at her and realized I couldn't forgive her. 

Then it all made sense. Ray had sent me those screenshots not to help me move on.

But to make me doubt Samantha and break us apart.

That day, I ended a friendship and a marriage.

For several days afterward, I wondered if it had all been my fault.

I wondered if I had been too stubborn.

I wondered if I should have done more to prevent my marriage from falling apart.

And I couldn't stop thinking about the dogs.

Maybe if I had listened to Samantha, things would have been different.

I carried those feelings for a while.

Until one day, I walked into the clinic and saw the dogs wagging their tails and barking hello.

In that moment, I knew one thing for certain.

They were always worth it.

Note: I had posted part 1 of this story a few weeks ago. This is part 1 and 2. I changed a few things and updated the title.

"It's me, babe," I said, almost crying. I wasn't even sure if she was listening. I'd been chasing after her for months, and I couldn't believe it was really her.

The intercom disconnected.

"Emilia?"

I dialed apartment 501 again, but there was no answer. I started shouting her name, hoping she could hear me through the building.

"Emilia!"

Clara grabbed my arm.

"We need to go."

I was convinced Emilia was in danger. Nothing else could explain why she was living in a place like that, why she'd been leaving me messages, or why she'd hung up the moment she heard my voice.

"She's in there," I said. "We have to do something." I looked up at the building. "Get her out of there."

People were beginning to come outside and stare.

"You're making things worse," Clara said.

I didn't want to leave. After months of searching for Emilia, I'd finally heard her voice.

"Let's go!" Clara said, pulling me away.

We got into the car and drove away. I couldn't stop looking back at the building.

"She does live there," Clara said.

"She's being held there against her will."

"No." She shook her head. "Not Emilia."

"What does that mean?"

"You'd be surprised how common this is nowadays. I've covered influencers who rented luxury houses for a weekend and filmed six months' worth of content in them. They change clothes, move to another room, and suddenly it looks like they're living in a mansion."

"I don't care if she lied about having money," I said.

"I think that's not the only thing that's fake."

She paused.

"Her relationships have been fake too," she said.

I took the Polaroid out of my pocket and stopped listening.

The only thought in my head was that Emilia had left it for me.

"Emilia is my fiancée. We love each other."

"I know these kinds of people," Clara said. "It's all an act. Maybe it was Linda's idea, but Emilia is part of it too."

I reminded myself that Clara was just trying to come up with a viral story. This was her way of doing just that.

She pulled over near a bus stop, and I got out of the car.

She started walking behind me.

"The scandal from your wedding alone got her millions of views," she said. "Live views."

I stopped.

I refused to believe what she was saying.

That wasn't the Emilia I knew.

That wasn't the woman who had told me she loved me and promised me we'd spend the rest of our lives together.

"You don't know what millions of live views means, do you?" Clara asked. "Her follower count also doubled."

Clara went quiet for a moment.

I looked at her.

"It can't be true," I said.

"Why else would she ask you to forgive her?"

That question got stuck in my head.

What if Clara was right?

Later that day, my phone wouldn't stop beeping. Clara and Manuel were messaging me almost simultaneously.

I didn't respond right away.

When I checked my messages a few minutes later, I saw a video Manuel had sent me.

It was a video of me desperately yelling Emilia's name outside the condo.

Clara had sent me a similar video.

"It went viral," she messaged.

Then she sent a screenshot. It was a statement from Emilia.

For the first time in months, Emilia had called me by my name.

Not to say that she loved me.

Not to explain why she had left that photograph.

Instead, Emilia told the world that I was stalking her and that she felt unsafe.

I put the phone away almost immediately.

I couldn't keep reading. In that moment, I felt my world crashing down around me. Disgust and sadness washed over me all at once.

Clara had been right.

The views were what mattered most to Emilia, and I was just a way for her to get them.

That night, I burned the photograph.

I watched Emilia's face disappear behind the flames until there was nothing left.

For months, I'd been chasing after her, convinced that if I could just find her, everything would make sense.

Now I finally understood.

She had never been trying to be found.

I was the one who had refused to let her go.

Note:

Well, this is it, everyone. I know it wasn't perfect, but it's finished! Do let me know what you thought of the story. It helps me more than you think!

The first story I posted on here was about Lance five years later. I put that story on pause to write the backstory between him and Emilia, which I've just completed. I'll be getting back to that story next unless I come up with some other story lol.

Thank you for reading!

Samantha and I sat together on the plane for roughly seven hours.

We talked about how much we were looking forward to the scenery and the hiking trails.

I still believed this was our chance to get back together. I kept telling myself that Samantha's decision to get on a dating app didn't mean anything.

When we arrived in Tuscany, we spent the next week hiking through the countryside. We talked for hours, laughed, and enjoyed our time together.

It felt like we'd never separated.

On our last night, we had dinner at a small restaurant near the hotel.

For the first time in ten months, we talked about getting back together.

It was the moment I'd been waiting for ever since we'd talked about coming here.

But something had changed.

By then, I couldn't keep denying that she might have seen someone. Maybe it didn't mean anything.

But I needed to know why she'd done it.

More than anything, I needed to know why she hadn't told me anything about it.

So I pulled out my phone and showed her the screenshots Ray had sent me.

She stared at them for several seconds without saying a word.

"It's not what you think," she said.

"Tell me what you think I think. Because I don't know why you would do this."

"I regretted leaving every day, James. I regretted asking you to choose. I thought you wouldn't want to get back together."

"Even if our chances were gone, I couldn't have moved on so soon."

"I didn't date anyone. I swear. It was a stupid decision."

She pulled out her phone and showed me the messages in the app.

She had never responded to anyone.

I felt a wave of relief when I saw that. Yet part of me still felt there was something she wasn't telling me.

But I ignored it.

When we got back to Washington, Samantha moved back into the house.

She started helping at the clinic. She helped feed the dogs, clean the kennels, and take them for walks.

We would take Kayla on short hikes and hang out on the front porch when we finished our workdays.

It almost felt like we were a family again.

Ray hadn't stopped messaging me, telling me that giving Samantha another chance was a mistake.

"She probably met someone and is hiding it from you," he said.

I started questioning whether I'd made the right decision. Whether there was something I wasn't seeing.

I couldn't stop thinking about it.

Some days, I thought about it all day.

One evening, Samantha took Kayla for a walk alone and left her phone on the kitchen counter.

A notification beeped.

I looked at the phone from where I was sitting.

Then I looked away.

I'd never checked Samantha's messages during the five years we'd been married. It had never even crossed my mind to do that.

Not once.

I knew looking would be wrong.

But something told me that if I didn't, I might spend the rest of my life wondering whether Samantha had told me everything.

So I picked up the phone and read the message.

"I miss you."

My stomach tightened when I looked at the sender.

It wasn't from some random guy she'd met online.

It was from Ray.

My friend.

The best man at my wedding.

I stood there for several minutes, staring at the phone.

Maybe there was an explanation.

Maybe I was misunderstanding what I was seeing.

At least that's what I wanted to believe.

I looked at their conversation.

Samantha had texted Ray after we came back from Tuscany, telling him they couldn't message each other again. She asked him never to talk about what had happened.

I put the phone down the moment I realized that they started talking before Samantha and I had separated.

I couldn't cry.

I couldn't even get angry.

I just felt empty.

Betrayed.

When Samantha came back from the walk, she smiled at me.

Then she noticed my expression.

"What happened?" she asked.

I looked at her.

"How long?"

Her smile disappeared.

"What?"

"How long before you told me about Ray?"

She froze.

For several seconds, neither of us said anything.

"It was one night," she finally said. "I felt like a horrible person after I asked you to abandon the dogs. Ray offered a shoulder to cry on."

She burst into tears.

I remembered how she'd barely been home during those days leading up to our separation.

"We've only texted since then, James. I swear."

Suddenly, it all made sense.

Ray hadn't sent me those screenshots to help me move on.

He'd sent them to make me doubt Samantha and break us apart.

I looked at her and realized I couldn't forgive them...

That day, I ended a friendship and a marriage.

For several days afterward, I wondered if it had all been my fault.

I wondered if I had been too stubborn.

I wondered if I should have done more to prevent my marriage from falling apart.

And I couldn't stop thinking about the dogs.

Maybe if I had listened to Samantha, things would have been different.

I carried those feelings for a while.

Until one day, I walked into the clinic and saw the dogs wagging their tails and barking hello.

In that moment, I knew one thing for certain.

They were always worth it.

Note: thank you for reading me! I'll be posting the finale of my other story later today/tomorrow.

My wife, Samantha, and I had a great marriage.

We were both animal lovers.

Hikers.

Sports enthusiasts.

When we got married, she was beginning a career in business, and I was a veterinarian at an animal clinic.

Every so often, people brought abandoned or abused animals to the clinic.

On my very first day at the clinic, a woman walked in with a dog.

"We bought a house," the woman said, "and the previous owners left her there."

I looked down at her feet, and there she was: an Australian shepherd with the sweetest eyes I'd ever seen. You could tell something was hurting her, yet she looked as though she was trying to smile.

We examined her and found that she had heartworms. The X-rays showed some damage to her heart. We explained the treatment she would need and what it would cost.

The woman stared at the dog for a long moment before speaking.

"I can't pay for that. She needs more care than I can give her."

Well, I was glad the shepherd couldn't understand English, because that wasn't the kind of thing anybody wanted to hear.

That dog had already been abandoned. She was probably wondering where her owners were.

I told the woman I'd take the dog to a shelter.

I called Samantha on my way there and told her what had happened.

"We need to bring her home," she said.

Those were the kindest words I'd heard all day.

I put the phone on speaker so the dog could hear it, or at least feel the warmth in it.

That night, I brought her home.

"I think Layla," Samantha said.

"No, she looks more like a Kira," I said.

"I hate that one."

"Kayla," I said.

Samantha smiled.

She didn't have to say anything. We both knew we'd found the right name.

From that day on, Kayla went almost everywhere with us: hardware stores, hiking trails, road trips.

Like many couples, we grew even closer because of our dog.

And so did the love between Samantha and me.

Bringing Kayla home was the best decision we'd made since getting married.

But things between Samantha and me changed a few months later.

Not because we stopped loving each other, but because more animals kept arriving at the clinic.

Just like Kayla, many of them weren't likely to be adopted because of chronic health problems.

So I brought them home.

Eventually, we had seven dogs and three cats living in our house.

That's when everything started to fall apart.

Samantha was barely home anymore.

"I can't stand the noise... all the extra cleaning," she said one night.

She held up her running shoes.

"They chewed them." Frustration filled her voice. "Please take them to the shelter."

"And let them die?" I asked.

"It wasn't you who abandoned them in the first place."

I knew she didn't mean that. She cried all night.

I brought up an idea I'd been dreaming about for years.

"What if I opened my own veterinary practice?" I asked.

"We don't have the money, James."

"We can use our savings."

We argued for hours that night.

I couldn't convince her.

She became more and more frustrated. She cried herself to sleep almost every night.

And just like that, the same decision that had once brought us closer slowly drove us apart.

A month later, she packed her things and moved in with a friend from college.

"I'll give you time to decide if this is the life you want," she said before she left.

About six months later, I opened my own practice and converted part of it into a rescue where animals could stay for as long as they needed.

Three months in, I was already sheltering fifteen dogs and two cats.

By that point, Samantha and I were still separated, but we hadn't stopped talking.

We texted every week or so.

We hadn't talked about divorce papers.

We hadn't talked about moving back in together, either.

My friend Ray and I were grabbing drinks one night.

"She should've come back already," he said. "Your house isn't full of dogs and cats anymore."

I'd been thinking about that.

I kept telling myself maybe Samantha just needed more time. But ten months felt like long enough. If we wanted to give our marriage another chance, we needed to see each other again. And there was one trip we'd planned that could be our chance to do that.

So, a week later, I called her.

"The hiking trip to Tuscany is coming up," I said.

"I know. I figured you'd cancel the tickets."

"What if we went?"

There was a long silence.

For a moment, I thought the call had disconnected.

"Are you there?" I asked.

"I am," she said quietly. "I guess we could go... if you want."

"Yes," I answered softly.

Samantha and I texted more frequently in the weeks after that. We shared our excitement about the nature trails we'd chosen for the hike.

For the first time in months, it felt like we were finding our way back to each other.

Everything was going smoothly until Ray texted me.

"I saw Samantha," he said.

He kept typing.

"On a dating app."

I didn't believe him until he sent screenshots.

Something inside me broke when I saw them. Maybe Samantha had lost hope in us. Or maybe she'd stopped loving me.

But I couldn't understand why she hadn't asked me for a divorce.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

Part of me felt I should fight for my marriage.

The other part told me to accept that it was over, even though neither of us had admitted it.

For two days, I thought about canceling the trip.

Every reason told me not to go.

But I kept remembering the woman I'd married. The one who'd told me to bring Kayla home without a second thought.

If there was even the smallest chance we could find our way back to each other, I owed it to us to take it.

So I went.

Later, I found out she was keeping another secret from me.

Note:

I revised a version of this story that I had previously posted. I cleaned up the grammar in some places, and changed the intro and ending.

I typically post as I write.

Comment Updateme if you want to know when the next part is posted.

Thanks for reading me !

I don't ask much from my clients. I really don't.

They sit.

They roll.

They leave their trays empty and wiped clean. Sometimes, they leave surprises where they shouldn't.

But they lick my hand, wag their tails, and bark hello and goodnight. They give me more than I ever ask of them, and that's enough.

They're worth it.

Converting part of my small veterinary clinic in rural Washington into a rescue center was the best decision I'd ever made.

It wasn't easy.

It cost me my life savings.

It nearly cost me my marriage. Or maybe it did.

I'm still trying to figure that out.

My wife, Samantha, and I had a great marriage. We were both animal lovers. Hikers. Sports enthusiasts. We ran five marathons together. We cooked together.

When we got married, she was beginning a career in business, and I was a veterinarian at an animal clinic.

Occasionally, people would bring in animals that had been mistreated or abandoned. 

On my first day working at the clinic, someone brought in a dog.

"We bought a house, and the previous owners left her there," the woman said.

I looked down at her feet, and there she was. A shepherd with the sweetest eyes.

You could tell something was hurting her, yet she looked as though she was trying to smile.

We examined her and found heartworms, the kind of diagnosis you never want to give.

We explained the treatment she would need and what it would cost.

The woman took a few moments to respond. 

"I can't pay for that. She needs more care than I can give her."

Well, I'm glad the shepherd couldn't understand English, because that's not the kind of thing anybody wants to hear.

That dog had already been abandoned. I'm sure she wondered where her owners were.

I told the woman I would take the dog to a shelter.

I called Samantha and told her what had happened.

"We need to bring her home," she said.

Those were the kindest words I'd heard all day.

I put the phone on speaker so the dog could hear it, or at least the kindness in her voice.

I brought the dog home that night.

"I think Layla," Samantha said.

"No, she looks more like a Kira," I said.

"I hate that one."

"Kayla," I said.

Samantha smiled. She didn't have to say anything. We both knew we'd found the right name.

We took Kayla everywhere we could. The hardware store, hiking trails, even hotel rooms.

Like many couples, we grew even closer because of our dog.

And so did the love between Samantha and me. Bringing Kayla home was the best decision we'd made since deciding to get married.

But things changed a few months later.

Not because we stopped loving each other, but because more animals kept arriving at the clinic. Just like Kayla, many of them weren't likely to be adopted because of chronic health problems.

So I brought them home.

At one point, we had seven dogs and three cats living in our house. 

That's when everything started to fall apart.

Samantha was barely home anymore.

"I can't stand the noise... all the extra cleaning," she said one night. She held up her running shoes. "They chewed them." Frustration filled her voice. "Please take them to the shelter."

"And let them die?"

"It wasn't you who abandoned them in the first place."

I know she didn't mean that. She cried all night. 

I brought up an idea I'd been dreaming about for years.

"What if I opened my own veterinary practice?" I asked.

"We don't have the money, James."

"We can use our savings."

We argued for hours that night. 

I couldn't convince her. 

She became more and more frustrated with the animals. She cried almost every night. 

And just like that, the same decision that had once brought us closer slowly drove us apart.

A month later, she packed her things and moved in with a friend from college.

"I'll give you time to decide if this is the life you want," she said before she left.

About six months later, I opened my own practice and converted part of it into a rescue where animals could stay for as long as they needed.

Three months in, I was already sheltering fifteen dogs and two cats.

By that point, Samantha and I were still separated, but we hadn't stopped talking.

 We texted every week or so. 

We hadn't talked about divorce papers. 

We hadn't talked about moving back in together, either.

My friend Ray and I were grabbing drinks one night.

"She should've come back already," he said. "Your house isn't full of dogs and cats anymore."

I'd been thinking about that.

I kept telling myself maybe Samantha just needed more time. But ten months felt like long enough.

If we wanted to give our marriage another chance, we needed to see each other again.

So, a week later, I called her.

"The hiking trip to Tuscany is coming up," I said.

"I know. I figured you'd cancel the tickets."

"What if we went?"

There was a long silence.

For a moment, I thought the call had disconnected.

"Are you there?" I asked.

"I am," she said quietly. "I guess we could go... if you want."

"Yes," I answered softly.

Samantha and I texted more frequently in the weeks after that. We shared our excitement about the nature trails we had chosen for the hike.

For the first time in months, it felt like we were finding our way back to each other. 

Everything was going smoothly until Ray texted me yesterday.

"I saw Samantha," he said.

He kept typing.

"On a dating app."

I didn't believe him until he sent screenshots.

Something inside me broke when I saw them. Maybe Samantha had lost hope in us. Or maybe she'd stopped loving me.

But I couldn't understand why she hadn't asked me for a divorce.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

Part of me thought I should fight for my marriage. 

The other part told me to accept it was over, even though neither of us had admitted it.

I wonder what a complete stranger would do if they were in my shoes. 

I don't ask much from my clients. I really don't.

They sit.

They roll.

They leave their trays empty and wiped clean. Sometimes, they leave surprises where they shouldn't.

But they lick my hand, wag their tails, and bark hello and goodnight. They give me more than I ever ask of them, and that's enough.

They're worth it.

Converting part of my small veterinary clinic in rural Washington into a rescue center was the best decision I'd ever made.

It wasn't easy.

It cost me my life savings.

It nearly cost me my marriage. Or maybe it did.

I'm still trying to figure that out.

My wife, Samantha, and I had a great marriage. We were both animal lovers. Hikers. Sports enthusiasts. We ran five marathons together. We cooked together.

When we got married, she was beginning a career in business, and I was a veterinarian at an animal clinic.

Occasionally, people would bring in animals that had been mistreated or abandoned. 

On my first day working at the clinic, someone brought in a dog.

"We bought a house, and the previous owners left her there," the woman said.

I looked down at her feet, and there she was. A shepherd with the sweetest eyes.

You could tell something was hurting her, yet she looked as though she was trying to smile.

We examined her and found heartworms, the kind of diagnosis you never want to give.

We explained the treatment she would need and what it would cost.

The woman took a few moments to respond. 

"I can't pay for that. She needs more care than I can give her."

Well, I'm glad the shepherd couldn't understand English, because that's not the kind of thing anybody wants to hear.

That dog had already been abandoned. I'm sure she wondered where her owners were.

I told the woman I would take the dog to a shelter.

I called Samantha and told her what had happened.

"We need to bring her home," she said.

Those were the kindest words I'd heard all day.

I put the phone on speaker so the dog could hear it, or at least the kindness in her voice.

I brought the dog home that night.

"I think Layla," Samantha said.

"No, she looks more like a Kira," I said.

"I hate that one."

"Kayla," I said.

Samantha smiled. She didn't have to say anything. We both knew we'd found the right name.

We took Kayla everywhere we could. The hardware store, hiking trails, even hotel rooms.

Like many couples, we grew even closer because of our dog.

And so did the love between Samantha and me. Bringing Kayla home was the best decision we'd made since deciding to get married.

But things changed a few months later.

Not because we stopped loving each other, but because more animals kept arriving at the clinic. Just like Kayla, many of them weren't likely to be adopted because of chronic health problems.

So I brought them home.

At one point, we had seven dogs and three cats living in our house. 

That's when everything started to fall apart.

Samantha was barely home anymore.

"I can't stand the noise... all the extra cleaning," she said one night. She held up her running shoes. "They chewed them." Frustration filled her voice. "Please take them to the shelter."

"And let them die?"

"It wasn't you who abandoned them in the first place."

I know she didn't mean that. She cried all night. 

I brought up an idea I'd been dreaming about for years.

"What if I opened my own veterinary practice?" I asked.

"We don't have the money, James."

"We can use our savings."

We argued for hours that night. 

I couldn't convince her. 

She became more and more frustrated with the animals. She cried almost every night. 

And just like that, the same decision that had once brought us closer slowly drove us apart.

A month later, she packed her things and moved in with a friend from college.

"I'll give you time to decide if this is the life you want," she said before she left.

About six months later, I opened my own practice and converted part of it into a rescue where animals could stay for as long as they needed.

Three months in, I was already sheltering fifteen dogs and two cats.

By that point, Samantha and I were still separated, but we hadn't stopped talking.

 We texted every week or so. 

We hadn't talked about divorce papers. 

We hadn't talked about moving back in together, either.

My friend Ray and I were grabbing drinks one night.

"She should've come back already," he said. "Your house isn't full of dogs and cats anymore."

I'd been thinking about that.

I kept telling myself maybe Samantha just needed more time. But ten months felt like long enough.

If we wanted to give our marriage another chance, we needed to see each other again.

So, a week later, I called her.

"The hiking trip to Tuscany is coming up," I said.

"I know. I figured you'd cancel the tickets."

"What if we went?"

There was a long silence.

For a moment, I thought the call had disconnected.

"Are you there?" I asked.

"I am," she said quietly. "I guess we could go... if you want."

"Yes," I answered softly.

Samantha and I texted more frequently in the weeks after that. We shared our excitement about the nature trails we had chosen for the hike.

For the first time in months, it felt like we were finding our way back to each other. 

Everything was going smoothly until Ray texted me yesterday.

"I saw Samantha," he said.

He kept typing.

"On a dating app."

I didn't believe him until he sent screenshots.

Something inside me broke when I saw them. Maybe Samantha had lost hope in us. Or maybe she'd stopped loving me.

But I couldn't understand why she hadn't asked me for a divorce.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

Part of me thought I should fight for my marriage. 

The other part told me to accept it was over, even though neither of us had admitted it.

What would do if they were in my shoes?

Note: this is a fictional story.

The video Emilia posted wasn't her usual kind of content. It felt as if she were trying to communicate with me in the only way she could.

In it, Emilia sipped a glass of wine.

Romanée-Conti.

The same wine we'd shared the night we met.

She described a fountain in a park. She never mentioned the park by name.

She didn't have to.

I knew exactly which one she meant. We'd always end our walks there when we were dating. 

She ended the video with a smile, and said, "I'll be there waiting for you." 

Manuel watched the video three times before handing my phone back.

"What about it?" he asked. 

"She's talking to me."

He frowned.

"Now I'm really worried about you. That's just some paid ad she's doing."

Maybe Manuel was right. Maybe anyone looking in from the outside would think I'd lost my mind. That I was seeing meaning where there wasn't any.

But I couldn't shake the feeling that Emilia wanted me to meet her there.

So I rushed out. 

"Wait! Where are you going?" Manuel shouted after me.

I didn't stop. 

I got to the park and waited by the fountain until dusk.

I kept coming back every day, around the same time we used to meet and hang out there.

Each evening, the fountain shut off, the lights around the park flickered on, and couples drifted home together while I sat alone on the same bench.

I'd never felt so lost in my life, clinging to the hope that Emilia would suddenly appear.

Eventually, I accepted that Manuel had been right.

I told myself this would be the last time. That I would move on. 

Before I left, I looked at the fountain's edge, remembering how Emilia used to sit there. Something tucked between the stones caught my eye. 

A Polaroid.

I pulled it free and looked at it, barely believing what I was seeing.

It was a photo of Emilia and I had taken on our first walk through the park. 

I flipped it over, and there was something written on the back.

'Forgive me.'

My hands trembled.

She'd been here.

I read the words again. 

They didn't make sense. Why was she asking me to forgive her?

Moments later my phone vibrated. It was a call from Manuel.

I ignored it.

But he called again.

I picked up.

"Come grab a drink with us," he said over the music blasting in the background.

He insisted that I come.

"I met someone who can help you talk with Emilia."

I looked down at the Polaroid still clutched in my hand.

Part of me thought Manuel was too drunk to know what he was talking about, but I had nothing left to lose.

When I arrived at the bar, Manuel waved me over.

"Man, you came!" he shouted.

Two women sat with him.

"This is Clara. And Marissa."

Neither woman stood out.

We spent the first few minutes talking and drinking. I kept expecting Manuel to explain why he'd invited me.

He never did.

Instead, he grew steadily drunk until he started making out with Marissa.

Eventually, the two of them wandered to the other side of the bar, leaving Clara and me alone.

"Manuel told us about Emilia's video," Clara said. "And I think you're right. She's trying to communicate with you."

I kept the Polaroid in my pocket, and studied her for a moment.

"Do you know Emilia?"

She half-smiled. 

"You don't remember me, do you?"

I searched for her face.

Nothing.

"You must have me confused with someone else," I said.

"I'm Clara McClare."

Still nothing.

"I make videos about influencers and public figures. Mostly the stories behind the image they present to everyone else. Marissa and I were covering your wedding. We were there."

It took me a moment to realize Marissa was the blogger Manuel had made out with on my wedding day.

"I've been following Emilia for years. And I've noticed that every one of her relationships follows the same pattern."

"Pattern?" I asked.

Clara held my gaze.

"Everything starts perfectly. Emilia falls in love. The world watches. Then it falls apart. A scandal. Then Linda steps in."

The mention of her name caught my attention. I recognized it immediately. 

"Her PR agent?"

Clara nodded.

"After Emilia's last relationship ended, Linda started feeding us the next love story."

I already knew where she was going. And I didn't want to hear it. 

"Manuel said you can help me talk to Emilia. Why?" 

She smiled faintly.

"A viral story keeps my career alive," she answered. 

"We're talking about someone's life. Not views."

She looked me straight in the eye.

"That's exactly why I'm still chasing this."

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the Polaroid.

Clara's expression changed the instant she saw it. "Where did you get that?"

"She left it for me."

I turned it over.

Clara stared at the words written on the back. For the first time that night, she looked genuinely surprised.

"'Forgive me?'" she asked.

"I don't know what she meant."

"You need to talk to her," Clara said.

"I've tried. Many times."

Long silence. 

"I may know where Emilia is."

***

The next morning, Clara drove me to a condominium complex just outside Seattle.

"This is it," she said.

She parked outside the gated entrance.

"Apartment 501."

I looked around. Some of the buildings had peeling paint. Others looked like they hadn't been maintained in years.

It wasn't the sort of place I'd expect a billionaire's daughter to be.

For the first time, I questioned whether Clara had been telling the truth.

"I know what you're thinking," she said.

"Then tell me how you know Emilia's here."

She stared through the windshield.

After several seconds, she sighed.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know for sure."

I looked back at the building. I'd already spent two weeks chasing ghosts. I didn't have anything left to lose.

I climbed out of the car and walked to the call box.

I pressed the button.

Nothing.

A few long seconds passed. Then the intercom clicked. Static crackled through the speaker.

Finally, someone answered.

"Hello?"

My heart caught in my throat.

It was Emilia's voice.

Note: I rewrote this part like 29 times. Let me know how I did, and if you want to know what happens next. Thanks 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. 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.

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.

Then, 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 first 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 doing it.

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.

I told myself I was confusing that woman with Melissa. I came up with every possible excuse.

That the area was poorly lit.

That I was too far away to see clearly.

At least, that was what I wanted to believe.

But then Caleb confirmed it.

"Melissa was in the house," he said. "She locked herself in the bathroom by the kitchen to escape the fire. I got her out just in time."

For a long second, I didn't blink or move.

My only thought was that Melissa was cheating on me with the man who was supposed to build our home. I didn't even stop to think about why she was hiding in the bathroom.

Melissa hadn't seen me. She wouldn't have known I was there because my shift was ending when the fire broke out. And Ryan probably didn't recognize me through all the smoke.

At that moment, all I wanted to do was confront both of them right there. Melissa had been the one that suggested we used Ryan's company. The more I thought about it, the more I felt she had been cheating on me for a long time.

I was ready to demand answers from them. But Caleb stopped me. He convinced me to take some time to process everything. To move on.

I finally acknowledged it wasn't the time or place. But I couldn't just break up with Melissa and move on.

I needed to know what else she had been hiding from me. I needed to know if the baby she was expecting was truly mine...

The ambulance took Melissa and Ryan to the hospital. I went back to the station with Caleb and the rest of the crew. Immediately afterward, I drove to the hospital.

It was around 3:00 a.m. when I got there. I was told Melissa was in observation and couldn't have visitors until morning.

I stayed in the waiting area all night.

In the morning, the nurse said Melissa still couldn't have any visitors, and she wouldn't even tell me the visiting hours.

That felt strange.

I wondered if something had gone wrong.

I asked if the baby was okay. At that point, I didn't care if Melissa had cheated on me. I was genuinely concerned about her and the baby.

The nurse said she couldn't give me any information.

I was about to ask why when a police officer walked up to me.

"Are you Mr. Mars?" he asked.

In that moment, I couldn't think of any reason he'd be looking for me.

"Yes, sir," I answered.

"I have a few questions I'd like to ask you."

"What's this regarding?"

He only repeated that he had some questions.

I assumed it had something to do with Ryan because I was the firefighter who had rescued him.

But that wasn't it.

He wanted to ask me about Melissa.

How we met.

How long we'd been together.

I had no idea why the police were interested in our relationship.

For a moment, I thought he was preparing me for the news that she had died.

But he never said that.

So I asked how she was doing.

He simply told me to wait for their call.

I went back home and texted Melissa and her sister. Neither of them replied back. At that point, I started to really worry.

I'd never waited for my phone to ring that much in my life.

I did get a call hours later.

It was the police again.

Not to tell me what was happening, but to ask me to come to the police station.

I was getting more worried by the hour.

I arrived at the police station, and I was taken into a room. Two detectives walked in and introduced themselves.

They told me they had opened an investigation involving Melissa and needed to ask me some questions.

My first thought was that she had done something reckless during the fire and put herself or the baby in danger.

But everything felt more serious when one of the detectives pulled out a folder and placed it on the table.

"Before we begin," he said, "I need to let you know this is being recorded."

I nodded.

"Did you ever notice anything unusual about Melissa?" he asked. "Any strange routines? Odd obsessions? Places she insisted on going?"

I shook my head. "No. Not until recently. She started acting strange about two weeks ago."

I didn't know exactly what they needed to know. So I told them everything. Her unusual requests. Her complaints. The way she'd been acting.

"I thought she was acting that way because of the pregnancy," I added.

The detectives exchanged a glance.

One of them looked down at the papers in the folder.

"When did she tell you she was pregnant?" he asked.

"Right after she found out. About two weeks ago."

He made a note.

They continued asking about our relationship. Then the questions shifted.

"What do you know about Melissa's parents?"

Melissa had barely mentioned them during our relationship. I told them the only thing I knew.

"They died when she was a teenager."

"Did she ever tell you exactly what happened?"

"No."

"Did she ever talk about past relationships?"

I shook my head. "Just that she'd dated before."

They stopped asking questions and left me alone for nearly an hour.

By then, my mind had gone everywhere.

When they came back, one detective sat across from me. This time, he wasn't asking questions.

He had something to tell me.

"We've found a few similarities between the fire that occurred last night and incidents connected to Melissa's past," he said.

My stomach tightened.

"What do you mean?"

He opened the folder.

"Melissa had two boyfriends before she met you."

I said nothing.

"While she was dating each of them, there was a kitchen fire at their homes."

I frowned.

"They were both ruled accidental," he continued. "The fires were extinguished quickly. No one was seriously hurt."

That could still be a coincidence.

The detective seemed to read my mind.

"We're not saying Melissa started those fires."

He paused.

"But there was another incident."

He slid a report toward himself.

"When Melissa was thirteen, her parents died in a house fire."

I swallowed hard.

"According to the fire report, Melissa survived because she locked herself inside the bathroom."

His words sent chills down my spine.

That's where Caleb had found her in Ryan's house.

"We don't have evidence linking Melissa to any of these fires," the detective repeated. "But we'd appreciate it if you contacted us if you remembered anything else, or learned anything new."

I left the station in complete disbelief.

Four separate house fires.

Miraculous survival.

Maybe it was all coincidence.

Maybe it wasn't.

That night, Melissa finally texted me. She asked if we could meet. She didn't mention Ryan. She didn't mention the hospital.

I didn't either.

I didn't know who she was anymore. I didn't know what she was capable of. So, I pretended I didn't know anything.

I simply told her I needed some time to think about our relationship.

Over the next couple of days, I couldn't stop thinking about what the detectives had told me.

I searched online for anything I could find about the fire at Melissa's parents.

There wasn't much.

Just short news articles repeating what the detectives had already told me. One article said the fire was caused by an electrical fault in the home.

I looked up the property records.

Her parents had built the house from the ground up. The fire had happened just three months after they moved in.

Something immediately caught my attention.

The builder.

It was Ryan's dad's company.

Ryan told us his father had died, and he had taken over the business.

A cold sweat ran down my spine.

I had to tell the police Melissa was the one who recommended Ryan's company.

I worked my shift that night, planning to tell the detectives the next day.

When I got home, I froze in the doorway.

The bathroom light was on.

I never left the it light on.

I checked the apartment lock and there didn't see any signs of forced entry.

"Hey, baby."

I turned, and saw her coming out of the hallway.

Melissa.

She still had a key. It didn't crossed my mind to change the lock.

She smiled at me as if nothing had happened.

"You look like you saw a ghost."

My heart pounded against my ribs. After everything I had learned about Melissa, I couldn't think of a good reason why she would decide to come back home in the middle of the without letting me know first.

"I didn't know you were coming," I said.

"You haven't missed me?" she asked.

"It's already late. That's all."

She walked over. "I missed you so much."

I didn't answer. I couldn't even look her in the eyes. All I knew is that I didn't want her in my house.

"Melissa... I think. We should—"

She cut me off.

"Let's just talk over dinner."

She walked to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator with the same easy smile.

"I'll make your favorite," she said, pulling meat and vegetables from the fridge.

"It's past midnight."

She laughed softly.

"You always eat at this time. And I'm hungry too. The baby has me eating all day."

She set everything on the counter and kept talking, but I wasn't listening.

I noticed something looked different in the kitchen.

I was almost certain I'd left my laptop open on the kitchen counter. I'd rushed out for work earlier that I just left it there.

Now it was gone.

Melissa used my laptop all the time. Maybe she just closed it and put it away.

Or maybe she found the articles I'd been reading about hpw her parents died.

In that moment, I felt she knew something was up.

And she was pretending she didn't know a thing.

Then I heard her sniffing. "I think it's going to be a boy, you know. And I'll name him like you."

Her words changed something in me. I stopped playing her games. If she did cause the fire, I couldn't let her get away with it. She shouldn't get a kid under her watch. No matter if the baby is mine or Ryan's.

As she looked for more ingredients in the fridge, I slowly slipped my phone from my pocket, opened the camera, and started recording without her noticing.

"The police contacted me," I said.

She didn't look up. She didn't said a word.

She kept pretending everything was fine.

"I'll make you chicken parmesan," she said, slicing the chicken.

"They asked me questions about you, Melissa."

She didn't look up.

After a long second, she finally spoke.

"I figured they would contact you. They talked to people at my work."

Then she met my eyes.

"You didn't tell me right away. Why? Do you suspect me too?"

"I don't care what anyone says. I just need you to tell me the truth."

Silence settled between us for seconds.

Then she started crying.

"Tell me the truth, Melissa. Why were you at Ryan's house the night of the fire?"

"I... I'm sorry."

She couldn't look at me.

Then she told me she'd been meeting Ryan at the cabin ever since our trip there. She described nights together, conversations, and details I wished I'd never heard.

But she never admitted to the fire.

"I swear I had nothing to do with it," she said through tears.

"Ryan's father built your parents' house," I said. "The same house that had an electrical fault and burned down."

She froze.

"Please," she whispered. "Don't talk about that day. I didn't know it was his family's company. I was thirteen."

"But you insisted we hire them to build our house."

"Someone at work recommended them. I swear."

We argued for nearly an hour.

She kept denying having done anything wrong.

In the end, we agreed it was best to separate. Before she left, she agreed to take a paternity test. I wanted proof the baby was mine.

After she walked out, I sat alone replaying every word she'd said.

I didn't believe all of it.

She'd lied too many times.

The next morning, I called the detective.

I told him about Ryan's father's construction company. He said they already knew about the connection, but it wasn't enough to charge her.

Then I sent him the recording.

The detectives never contacted me back.

Weeks later, the paternity test came back. It turned out that Ryan was the father.

Months passed.

I never heard from Melissa again..

Then one evening, I saw her face on the local news. She had been arrested.

I then learned that the police question all of Melissa's coworkes. No one had ever recommended Ryan's company.

She'd lied about that too.

Then they found something else.

The night before the fire, someone had removed the smoke detector.

Security camera footage that had been uploaded to the cloud showed who it was.

Melissa.

I told myself I was confusing that woman with Melissa. I came up with every possible excuse.

That the area was poorly lit.

That I was too far away to see clearly.

At least, that was what I wanted to believe.

But then Caleb confirmed it.

"Melissa was in the house," he said. "She locked herself in the bathroom by the kitchen to escape the fire. I got her out just in time."

For a long second, I didn't blink or move.

My only thought was that Melissa was cheating on me with the man who was supposed to build our home. I didn't even stop to think about why she was hiding in the bathroom.

Melissa hadn't seen me. She wouldn't have known I was there because my shift was ending when the fire broke out. And Ryan probably didn't recognize me through all the smoke.

At that moment, all I wanted to do was confront both of them right there. Melissa had been the one that suggested we used Ryan's company. The more I thought about it, the more I felt she had been cheating on me for a long time.

I was ready to demand answers from them. But Caleb stopped me. He convinced me to take some time to process everything. To move on.

I finally acknowledged it wasn't the time or place. But I couldn't just break up with Melissa and move on.

I needed to know what else she had been hiding from me. I needed to know if the baby she was expecting was truly mine...

The ambulance took Melissa and Ryan to the hospital. I went back to the station with Caleb and the rest of the crew. Immediately afterward, I drove to the hospital.

It was around 3:00 a.m. when I got there. I was told Melissa was in observation and couldn't have visitors until morning.

I stayed in the waiting area all night.

In the morning, the nurse said Melissa still couldn't have any visitors, and she wouldn't even tell me the visiting hours.

That felt strange.

I wondered if something had gone wrong.

I asked if the baby was okay. At that point, I didn't care if Melissa had cheated on me. I was genuinely concerned about her and the baby.

The nurse said she couldn't give me any information.

I was about to ask why when a police officer walked up to me.

"Are you Mr. Mars?" he asked.

In that moment, I couldn't think of any reason he'd be looking for me.

"Yes, sir," I answered.

"I have a few questions I'd like to ask you."

"What's this regarding?"

He only repeated that he had some questions.

I assumed it had something to do with Ryan because I was the firefighter who had rescued him.

But that wasn't it.

He wanted to ask me about Melissa.

How we met.

How long we'd been together.

I had no idea why the police were interested in our relationship.

For a moment, I thought he was preparing me for the news that she had died.

But he never said that.

So I asked how she was doing.

He simply told me to wait for their call.

I went back home and texted Melissa and her sister. Neither of them replied back. At that point, I started to really worry.

I'd never waited for my phone to ring that much in my life.

I did get a call hours later.

It was the police again.

Not to tell me what was happening, but to ask me to come to the police station.

I was getting more worried by the hour.

I arrived at the police station, and I was taken into a room. Two detectives walked in and introduced themselves.

They told me they had opened an investigation involving Melissa and needed to ask me some questions.

My first thought was that she had done something reckless during the fire and put herself or the baby in danger.

But everything felt more serious when one of the detectives pulled out a folder and placed it on the table.

"Before we begin," he said, "I need to let you know this is being recorded."

I nodded.

"Did you ever notice anything unusual about Melissa?" he asked. "Any strange routines? Odd obsessions? Places she insisted on going?"

I shook my head. "No. Not until recently. She started acting strange about two weeks ago."

I didn't know exactly what they needed to know. So I told them everything. Her unusual requests. Her complaints. The way she'd been acting.

"I thought she was acting that way because of the pregnancy," I added.

The detectives exchanged a glance.

One of them looked down at the papers in the folder.

"When did she tell you she was pregnant?" he asked.

"Right after she found out. About two weeks ago."

He made a note.

They continued asking about our relationship. Then the questions shifted.

"What do you know about Melissa's parents?"

Melissa had barely mentioned them during our relationship. I told them the only thing I knew.

"They died when she was a teenager."

"Did she ever tell you exactly what happened?"

"No."

"Did she ever talk about past relationships?"

I shook my head. "Just that she'd dated before."

They stopped asking questions and left me alone for nearly an hour.

By then, my mind had gone everywhere.

When they came back, one detective sat across from me. This time, he wasn't asking questions.

He had something to tell me.

"We've found a few similarities between the fire that occurred last night and incidents connected to Melissa's past," he said.

My stomach tightened.

"What do you mean?"

He opened the folder.

"Melissa had two boyfriends before she met you."

I said nothing.

"While she was dating each of them, there was a kitchen fire at their homes."

I frowned.

"They were both ruled accidental," he continued. "The fires were extinguished quickly. No one was seriously hurt."

That could still be a coincidence.

The detective seemed to read my mind.

"We're not saying Melissa started those fires."

He paused.

"But there was another incident."

He slid a report toward himself.

"When Melissa was thirteen, her parents died in a house fire."

I swallowed hard.

"According to the fire report, Melissa survived because she locked herself inside the bathroom."

His words sent chills down my spine.

That's where Caleb had found her in Ryan's house.

"We don't have evidence linking Melissa to any of these fires," the detective repeated. "But we'd appreciate it if you contacted us if you remembered anything else, or learned anything new."

I left the station in complete disbelief.

Four separate house fires.

Miraculous survival.

Maybe it was all coincidence.

Maybe it wasn't.

That night, Melissa finally texted me. She asked if we could meet. She didn't mention Ryan. She didn't mention the hospital.

I didn't either.

I didn't know who she was anymore. I didn't know what she was capable of. So, I pretended I didn't know anything.

I simply told her I needed some time to think about our relationship.

Over the next couple of days, I couldn't stop thinking about what the detectives had told me.

I searched online for anything I could find about the fire at Melissa's parents.

There wasn't much.

Just short news articles repeating what the detectives had already told me. One article said the fire was caused by an electrical fault in the home.

I looked up the property records.

Her parents had built the house from the ground up. The fire had happened just three months after they moved in.

Something immediately caught my attention.

The builder.

It was Ryan's dad's company.

Ryan told us his father had died, and he had taken over the business.

A cold sweat ran down my spine.

I had to tell the police Melissa was the one who recommended Ryan's company.

I worked my shift that night, planning to tell the detectives the next day.

When I got home, I froze in the doorway.

The bathroom light was on.

I never left the it light on.

I checked the apartment lock and there didn't see any signs of forced entry.

"Hey, baby."

I turned, and saw her coming out of the hallway.

Melissa.

She still had a key. It didn't crossed my mind to change the lock.

She smiled at me as if nothing had happened.

"You look like you saw a ghost."

My heart pounded against my ribs. After everything I had learned about Melissa, I couldn't think of a good reason why she would decide to come back home in the middle of the without letting me know first.

"I didn't know you were coming," I said.

"You haven't missed me?" she asked.

"It's already late. That's all."

She walked over. "I missed you so much."

I didn't answer. I couldn't even look her in the eyes. All I knew is that I didn't want her in my house.

"Melissa... I think. We should—"

She cut me off.

"Let's just talk over dinner."

She walked to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator with the same easy smile.

"I'll make your favorite," she said, pulling meat and vegetables from the fridge.

"It's past midnight."

She laughed softly.

"You always eat at this time. And I'm hungry too. The baby has me eating all day."

She set everything on the counter and kept talking, but I wasn't listening.

I noticed something looked different in the kitchen.

I was almost certain I'd left my laptop open on the kitchen counter. I'd rushed out for work earlier that I just left it there.

Now it was gone.

Melissa used my laptop all the time. Maybe she just closed it and put it away.

Or maybe she found the articles I'd been reading about hpw her parents died.

In that moment, I felt she knew something was up.

And she was pretending she didn't know a thing.

Then I heard her sniffing. "I think it's going to be a boy, you know. And I'll name him like you."

Her words changed something in me. I stopped playing her games. If she did cause the fire, I couldn't let her get away with it. She shouldn't get a kid under her watch. No matter if the baby is mine or Ryan's.

As she looked for more ingredients in the fridge, I slowly slipped my phone from my pocket, opened the camera, and started recording without her noticing.

"The police contacted me," I said.

She didn't look up. She didn't said a word.

She kept pretending everything was fine.

"I'll make you chicken parmesan," she said, slicing the chicken.

"They asked me questions about you, Melissa."

She didn't look up.

After a long second, she finally spoke.

"I figured they would contact you. They talked to people at my work."

Then she met my eyes.

"You didn't tell me right away. Why? Do you suspect me too?"

"I don't care what anyone says. I just need you to tell me the truth."

Silence settled between us for seconds.

Then she started crying.

"Tell me the truth, Melissa. Why were you at Ryan's house the night of the fire?"

"I... I'm sorry."

She couldn't look at me.

Then she told me she'd been meeting Ryan at the cabin ever since our trip there. She described nights together, conversations, and details I wished I'd never heard.

But she never admitted to the fire.

"I swear I had nothing to do with it," she said through tears.

"Ryan's father built your parents' house," I said. "The same house that had an electrical fault and burned down."

She froze.

"Please," she whispered. "Don't talk about that day. I didn't know it was his family's company. I was thirteen."

"But you insisted we hire them to build our house."

"Someone at work recommended them. I swear."

We argued for nearly an hour.

She kept denying having done anything wrong.

In the end, we agreed it was best to separate. Before she left, she agreed to take a paternity test. I wanted proof the baby was mine.

After she walked out, I sat alone replaying every word she'd said.

I didn't believe all of it.

She'd lied too many times.

The next morning, I called the detective.

I told him about Ryan's father's construction company. He said they already knew about the connection, but it wasn't enough to charge her.

Then I sent him the recording.

The detectives never contacted me back.

Weeks later, the paternity test came back. It turned out that Ryan was the father.

Months passed.

I never heard from Melissa again..

Then one evening, I saw her face on the local news. She had been arrested.

I then learned that the police question all of Melissa's coworkes. No one had ever recommended Ryan's company.

She'd lied about that too.

Then they found something else.

The night before the fire, someone had removed the smoke detector.

Security camera footage that had been uploaded to the cloud showed who it was.

Melissa.

----

A little note: This is my first completed story!

I usually write as I go and post shorter scenes, so this one ended up being a bit longer than my usual work.

If you've been following my story about the woman left at the altar, Part 6 will be dropping next week. You'll see why I took a break. The ending needed to be realistic. That story is a lot longer. So I'm thinking I need at least part 7 and 8 to call it done.

Thank you so much for reading and for all your comments.

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.