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want to be tied down with family obligations.
It was like they were living out some teen
romance that everyone felt they’d been
cheated out of.
The comments were unanimous, how perfect
they were together.
There was a single dissenting voice from a
throwaway account:
[Fake, he’s married.]
And the internet tore that person down:
[Who cares if he’s married? You don’t ever
forget your first love!]
[He’ll get a divorce and go after Chloe, just
watch.]
く
I was about to give them a like, when my feed
was flooded by a photo. Backstage, Ben was
giving Chloe flowers. She looked as giddy as
a teenager, and Ben seemed to mirror her
happiness, with a rare, gentle smile.
My heart skipped a beat. It occurred to me
that after decades of knowing him, after five
years of marriage, I had never seen him smile
like that at me.
He’d also never given me flowers.
If Chloe was his great lost love, I was just the
contract, a name on paper.
Chloe, Ben, and I, we all grew up in the same
area and went to the same schools. But they
had a different bond, learning calligraphy
from the same teacher. The only reason I got
く
Ben’s private contact info was half a month
after we got married.
When we got hitched, Ben was a workaholic,
gone for weeks on end. My mother–in–law
told me I wasn’t concerned enough about
him, and so I texted him: [Hey, will you be
home for dinner tonight?]
He replied 30 minutes later: [Who is this?]
[It’s Ava.]
[Okay, thanks, don’t wait up.]
Three months later, I got my first text from
him: [Family dinner tomorrow night.]
I wrote back, confused: [What’s the
occasion?]
