My Fiancée’s Secret Boyfriend

Before my best friend Scott Hawkins died of cancer, his greatest concern was the online girlfriend he had never met in person. He clutched my hand, tears streaming down his face. "Ian, her depression is severe. I'm afraid losing me might push her over the edge. Can you keep using my account for a while, gradually distance yourself, and end things once she's had time to adjust?" With tears in my eyes, I promised him I would. For the next three years, I pretended to be Scott. I helped her through another depressive episode, supported her as she got her career back on track, and then gradually began distancing myself. Today, I finally decided three years was long enough. She'd had enough time to accept that the relationship was over and move on. So I typed, [We shouldn't talk anymore. It's over,] and hit send. At that exact moment, my fiancée's phone lit up on the coffee table. The breakup message I had just sent appeared on her screen. Chapter 1 "Ian, the water's perfect. Go ahead and get in. I'll be out after I dry my hair." Natalie Fisher called out from the bathroom, her voice soft and affectionate. I stood frozen beside the coffee table. My eyes were fixed on the profile picture glowing on her phone. It belonged to the account I had been using for the past three years. [We shouldn't talk anymore. It's over.] Those were the exact words I had just sent. The bathroom door opened, and Natalie stepped out in a robe. The moment she saw me standing there, she stopped. "What's wrong? You look terrible." She walked over and reached for the collar of my pajamas, trying to straighten it the way she always did. I recoiled so fast that my lower back struck the arm of the couch. A sharp pain shot through me as the hard edge dug into bone. Her hand froze in midair. "Ian?" Her eyes followed my stare to the phone glowing on the table. Then her expression went completely still. The phone vibrated again, playing the custom notification sound she had assigned to that account. She lunged for it, snatched it off the table, and opened the message with shaking fingers. She read the short message three times. "No..." Her voice came out barely above a whisper. "He wouldn't..." She started typing, then deleted the message. She tried again, only to erase that one, too. No matter how many times she started, she couldn't bring herself to send anything. Then she called, again and again. Scott Hawkins's old phone stayed silent in my pocket. I always kept it on mute. I was afraid Natalie might see it and realize I had spent years pretending to be someone else online. "Pick up... Please, just pick up..." Her voice trembled, and beads of sweat formed along her forehead. I had never seen her like this before. No. That wasn't true. I had seen this side of her in the messages she sent to "Scott." Whenever her depression got bad, she begged him the same way, pleading with "him" not to leave. But the Natalie I knew in real life was always calm, thoughtful, and seemingly flawless. "Natalie," I said. She didn't respond. She just kept calling. "Natalie!" Her head snapped up. Her eyes were red, and anger twisted across her face. "Shut up!" The words hit me like a slap. I stared at her for a moment, then let out a short laugh. She seemed to realize what she had said and quickly apologized, her voice returning to its usual calm, polished tone. "I'm sorry. Something came up, and I need to deal with it." She hurried into the bedroom and started pulling clothes from the closet. "What happened?" She dressed so quickly that she fastened her blouse wrong and didn't even notice. "It's urgent." She refused to look at me. "What could be so urgent? We're supposed to try on our wedding clothes tomorrow." Natalie paused and finally looked at me. There was no guilt in her eyes, only irritation that I was holding her up. "Go get your suit fitted without me. Pick out whatever wedding dress you like. I'll cover it." "You'll cover it?" I repeated. "What could possibly be more important than our wedding?" Her expression went cold. She looked at me as though I were a complete stranger. "Ian, you've always been so easygoing. Why are you suddenly making such a big deal out of this?" Before I could answer, she grabbed her car keys, slammed the door behind her, and left. Chapter 2 "Mr. Moore, is your fiancée unable to make it again today?" The bridal consultant kept her smile professional, but the implication was clear. I sat alone in front of the full-length mirror. This was the second time Natalie had stood me up. A few employees whispered nearby. They kept their voices low, but I could still hear every word. "That's him. The illustrator. I have no idea how he managed to get engaged to Ms. Fisher." "She hasn't shown up once. She hasn't even tried on a wedding dress. I doubt this wedding is actually happening." I pretended not to hear them. Once I was inside the fitting room, I pulled out Scott's old phone. Hundreds of unread messages from Natalie filled the screen. [Why are you ignoring me? [Did I do something wrong? Just tell me, and I'll fix it. [Please answer the phone, even just for a second. [Are you leaving me? [Please don't leave me.] At the bottom was a 60-second voice message. I hesitated for a long time before pressing play. Her voice was choked with tears, and I could hear a car engine idling in the background. "Scott... Please give me one more chance... I can't live without you... I really can't..." The same woman who had told me to shut up and accused me of making a big deal out of nothing the night before was now sobbing so hard into another phone that she could barely breathe. A knock sounded at the fitting-room door. "Mr. Moore, Ms. Griffin is here." Valerie Griffin was Natalie's childhood best friend. I quickly regained my composure, changed out of the suit, and stepped outside. Valerie sat on the couch with her legs crossed. As soon as she saw me, she pulled a black credit card from her purse and slapped it onto the table. "Use this to pay the balance. Natalie's busy. She doesn't have time to hold your hand through a suit fitting." She stood, walked over, and lowered her voice. "I'm going to be honest with you. You know why Natalie chose you. You're agreeable, low-maintenance, and you never give her any trouble. She's willing to marry you, so be grateful and know your place. Don't expect romance or some great love story. That was never what this was." I glared at her, anger surging through me. Valerie didn't flinch. "Did I hit a nerve?" she asked. "Here's some advice. Natalie's been in a bad mood lately, so don't push her. There are plenty of men who'd be happy to take your place." She brushed past me, knocking my shoulder hard enough to make me stumble back a step. "The PIN is her birthday. Pick whatever suit you want, and choose a dress for Natalie while you're at it. You'll only wear them once anyway." With that, she smoothed her skirt and walked out. I stood alone in the bridal boutique. On my phone were my fiancée's desperate pleas to another version of me. On the table sat the black card her best friend had tossed down. "Mr. Moore, are you happy with the suit?" "No," I said. "I don't want it anymore." Chapter 3 By the time I got home from the bridal boutique, I felt so drained and out of it that I went straight to bed. In the middle of the night, a sharp pain tore through my abdomen. Cold sweat soaked my pajamas, and my vision started to go dark. I fumbled for my phone and called Natalie. It rang for a long time before she finally picked up. "Hello?" An airport announcement echoed in the background. My heart sank. "Natalie... My stomach hurts so badly. I can't get up. Can you come back and take me to the hospital?" She was quiet for a few seconds. "I have something urgent to deal with right now. Can't you call a cab yourself?" Something urgent. "Scott" wanted to break up with her. Of course, she considered that an emergency. I lay on the floor, my hands and feet ice-cold. Without really knowing why, I picked up Scott's phone and typed a message. [I want to see you.] I hit send. Almost immediately, I heard Natalie shout at someone on the other end of the call. "Change my flight! Now! Get me on the next plane to Cloudspire! I don't care what it costs!" Cloudspire. It was a city I had chosen on a whim when I created "Scott's" backstory. She really was at the airport. She was leaving me behind for someone who didn't even exist. "Natalie," I said into the phone, "what if I die tonight?" Her voice turned cold. "Don't threaten me like that. This side of you is suffocating." She hung up. I lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling as another wave of pain ripped through my abdomen, worse than the last. I doubled over as my vision blurred and consciousness began to slip away. With the last of my strength, I called 911. - "His appendix ruptured! If he'd arrived any later, he could've developed peritonitis! "Where's his family? There's no one here to sign the surgical consent forms!" The surgery lasted three hours. I spent the next three days in the hospital. Natalie never called or sent a single message. Scott's phone, however, received hundreds of messages every day. [Scott, I'm in Cloudspire. Where are you? [I've looked everywhere I thought you might be. Why won't you see me? [I'll wait at the coffee shop until you come.] I shut off the phone without a trace of emotion. It was raining the day I was discharged. I completed the paperwork alone, then took a cab back to the apartment Natalie and I had shared for the past three years. When I opened the door, everything was exactly as I had left it. Chapter 4 I started packing. I didn't cry or cause a scene. I folded the clothes Natalie had bought me and put them back in the closet. The clothes I had paid for went into my suitcase. In the study, I covered the art supplies she had given me with a dust cover. Little by little, I removed every trace of myself from the living room. That was the scene Natalie walked into when she finally came home. She spent three days waiting in Cloudspire for "Scott," but he never appeared. She looked exhausted and unkempt, with smudged makeup and bloodshot eyes. She froze when she saw me closing my suitcase. "What are you doing?" she asked with a hoarse voice. I didn't answer. I bent down, moved the potted monstera from the coffee table to the floor, then pulled the plain platinum band from my finger. Natalie and I had bought matching bands after she accepted my proposal. I placed the ring and my keys side by side in the middle of the coffee table. "Ian, I asked you a question!" Her voice sharpened as she crossed the room and caught my wrist. "What's this about?" I looked up at her. "I'm leaving." She paused, then let go of me. When she spoke again, her voice was calmer. "Fine. I admit I handled things badly the other night." She pulled a credit card from her wallet and held it out to me. "Use this and buy yourself whatever you want. Just put the ring back on and stop turning this into something bigger than it is." Money again. As if that could fix everything. "My appendix ruptured that night," I said quietly. "I almost died." Her hand fell to her side. Panic flashed across her face before she quickly masked it. "Was it serious?" "The doctor said I might not have made it if I'd gotten there any later." Her lips parted. "I'm sor…" "Don't." I pushed the card, ring, and keys toward her. "You don't need to apologize, because I'm not going to forgive you." I grabbed my suitcase and headed for the door. She rushed up behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist, holding on tightly. "Ian, wait! Let me explain. I really did have something important to deal with that day." "I know," I said evenly. "Scott was breaking up with you." She froze. "H-How do you know that?" I pulled her arms away, turned to face her, and gave her a faint smile. "I've known all along." She took half a step back, the color draining from her face. Then her expression hardened. The panic vanished, replaced by the cold composure she used when tearing someone apart across a negotiating table. "You had me investigated?" "It doesn't matter." I picked up my suitcase. "We're done. The wedding's off." "Ian." Her voice followed me. "Are you sure about this?" I kept walking. "What are you going to do without me? Draw pictures? Do you even make enough to cover rent?" My grip tightened around the suitcase handle. "The second you walk out that door, you're on your own." I opened it. "You'll come crawling back," she continued. I stepped into the silent hallway and dragged my suitcase toward the elevator without looking back.