I thought I had met the perfect man. Jake was like someone straight out of a romance novel—successful, charming, and completely captivating. He had this way of making me feel like I was the only woman in the world, and for the past month, I believed that was true.
Every date with him felt magical. He planned intimate rooftop dinners where the city lights danced around us, quiet evening walks by the river where he held my hand like he never wanted to let go, and surprise picnics in hidden gardens, where we laughed over spilled wine and stolen kisses.
That evening was supposed to be just as perfect.
We sat in a cozy corner of an elegant rooftop restaurant. The glow of the candles flickered between us, and the skyline twinkled behind Jake, making him look even more like a dream. But something was different.
He wasn’t himself.
His jaw tightened when he thought I wasn’t looking. His eyes, usually so warm, seemed distant. He barely touched his food. It felt like he was carrying the weight of something he didn’t want me to see.
“Long day?” I asked, hoping to get him to open up.
Jake nodded, still staring at the candle between us. “You could say that.”
His words were short, clipped. It was unlike him.
“You seem… off tonight,” I said, setting my fork down.
“Do I?” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry, I guess I’m just tired.”
But it wasn’t just tiredness. I knew Jake, and this wasn’t just exhaustion. Something was wrong.
By the time dessert arrived—a slice of chocolate cake we planned to share—he sighed deeply.
“I think I might have caught something,” he said quietly, still not meeting my gaze. “We should cancel our weekend trip to the lake house.”
I stared at him. “What? Jake, we’ve been planning that trip for weeks. Are you sure you’re okay?”
He nodded, forcing a weak smile. “I just need a few days to rest.”
Something inside me twisted. He didn’t look sick. He looked troubled. My gut told me he was hiding something.
“If there’s anything I can do, you’ll tell me, right?” I asked, reaching for his hand.
“Of course.” He squeezed my fingers quickly before pulling away.
That night, as he dropped me off at my apartment, I hesitated in the doorway, waiting for him to say something—anything—to reassure me. Instead, he kissed my cheek, wished me goodnight, and left.
And as I lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Jake was keeping a secret. A big one.
The next morning, I woke up to silence. No good morning text. No missed calls.
By lunchtime, I was pacing my apartment, staring at my phone as if I could will it to ring. It didn’t.
Something wasn’t right.
Finally, I grabbed a basket of fresh fruit and decided to check on him. If he was sick, he’d need something to eat, right?
That’s what I told myself. But deep down, I just needed to see him.
When I arrived at Jake’s house, his driveway was empty. I rang the doorbell and waited. No answer.
“Jake?” I called, knocking harder. “Jake, it’s me, Emily!”
Silence.
Then, a voice behind me.
“Looking for someone?”
I turned to see an older woman standing by the picket fence. She had graying hair pulled into a neat bun and a knowing smile.
“Yes,” I said, forcing a polite smile. “I was just checking on Jake. He told me he wasn’t feeling well.”
“Oh, he’s not home,” she said, with a chuckle. “He’s at a wedding.”
“A wedding?” The word felt foreign in my mouth.
“Yes! His own!” She beamed. “Guess whatever he caught must’ve been ‘commitment fever.’ Dangerous stuff, I hear.”
My heart stopped. My breath caught in my throat.
“His… own wedding?” I whispered.
“Oh, don’t worry, sweetie. Weddings cure just about everything. Well, except cold feet,” she laughed, as if this was some hilarious joke.
I stood frozen, the world spinning around me.
“Where?” I forced out. “Where’s the wedding?”
“Oh, at Nora’s house on Maple Street—the red and white one with the garden. She’s been talking about this wedding for weeks.”
Nora. Maple Street. A wedding.
My mind struggled to put the pieces together. “Who is she?”
“Oh, she’s Julia’s mother,” the woman said cheerfully. “You know, Julia, the bride.”
My hands clenched into fists.
I had to see it with my own eyes.
I don’t remember the drive to Maple Street. It felt like a blur.
But when I arrived, my stomach dropped.
There he was.
Jake stood on the steps of a beautifully decorated house, wearing a perfectly tailored suit. Beside him, in a flowing white gown, was Julia.
Before I could move, an older woman stepped forward. Her presence was cold and powerful, like she commanded every room she entered.
“I know who you are,” she said smoothly. “My son Jake is married now. I suggest you leave him alone.”
Nora.
Jake turned and saw me. His face drained of color as he rushed toward me.
“Emily, I can explain.”
I held up a hand. “You’re married?”
“It’s not what it looks like,” he pleaded. “Julia’s sick… Her mother begged me. The insurance will cover her surgery.”
I stared at him, disbelief and pain flooding my chest. “Who does this if they’re not in love?”
I didn’t wait for an answer. I turned and walked away.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Something about Julia didn’t add up. She didn’t look sick. And Nora—she had been too calm, too satisfied.
Driven by instinct, I found myself back at Maple Street the next evening. I parked down the road and crept closer. Then I heard it.
Julia’s voice—sharp, angry. “You staged all of this! Why? He doesn’t love me. You lied about me being sick!”
Nora’s voice followed, cold and smug. “I did it for you. He’s too honorable to leave you now.”
I pulled out my phone and hit record.
Then I dialed Jake.
“You need to see this.”
The next morning, Jake stood at my door, his shoulders slouched, his face filled with regret.
“I filed for an annulment,” he said quietly. “It’s over.”
I studied his face, his remorse evident.
“Let’s go for a walk,” I finally said. “We both need some air.”
He hesitated. “Do you think you could pack a bag? Come with me to the lake? I’ll renew the booking.”
I laughed softly. “I never unpacked my suitcase.”
And so we left, away from the lies, away from the chaos, to a place where we could figure out what was real. Because love isn’t about avoiding imperfections. It’s about finding the courage to face them together.
