Longing for the Unreachable

After I hung up, I thought for a moment, then created a new account on Instagram and searched the handle I'd memorized.

I sent a request, and she accepted almost immediately. She really had her guard down, even with a stranger.

Bernard didn't come home that night. Apparently, she had kept him very satisfied.

…

The next morning, just as I arrived at the office, Bernard's assistant showed up with a bouquet of roses and a thermos of warm, sweet oatmeal Bernard had made himself.

A minute later, Bernard called. "Honey, I just got notice I have to travel for work. I probably won't be home for the next few days. I swung by to pack and made your favorite oatmeal. Have it while it's hot."

After the call, I opened my Instagram. The "maid" shared a breakfast photo, and there it was—the same sweet oatmeal.

The caption said, "He made me breakfast as a reward for last night."

Bernard once promised he'd never cook for anyone but me.

A coworker stopped by my desk, her eyes lighting up at the roses. "Where do you even find a man this thoughtful and successful?"

To outsiders, Bernard seemed devoted to me. He came across as loyal, refined, and destined for success.

But I wasn't exactly lacking, either. If I could hold his attention, it wasn't by accident. And if he liked me, there were plenty of men who did.

Seeing my colleague admiring the bouquet, I said casually, "You can have it if you like."

Her face lit up. "Really? These flowers are gorgeous! You're not joking, are you?"

I smiled. "Just take it. And I've already had my breakfast. He made sweet oatmeal for me this morning. If you don't mind, you can take it too."

No matter how good it looked, that fake love wasn't worth holding on to.

Over the next few days, the "maid" kept posting on Instagram. Just by watching her Story, I could track their every move.

They went trekking through the rainforest, taking in the sights and sounds.

They watched fireworks at Starfall Park and kissed under the bursts of light.

Bernard took her to my favorite bistro and even cut her steak at the table.

Then, he brought her to a hot-spring retreat, where they indulged every whim.

In between, he bought her multiple sets of lingerie I couldn't even look at without wincing.

I didn't cry or get upset. I just saved every post she was foolish enough to show off.

…

A week later, Bernard finally reached out. "Honey, we haven't been to your favorite restaurant in ages. Want to go this week?"

I almost laughed. He had just taken her there and suddenly remembered me. Was I supposed to be touched?

I didn't call him out. Instead, I asked, "Did you just get back from the trip?"

He slipped into the same sweet tone as always. "Yeah, honey. I'm wiped, but I'm so happy I get to see you."

I simply replied, "Okay."

Since he'd "left for work," I hadn't set foot in the place we shared. I stayed at my own apartment because the condo felt contaminated by him.

…

That night, he came home to the condo buzzing with energy, only to realize I wasn't there.

He sounded wounded over the phone. "Honey, why weren't you here to greet me? Do you know how sad it feels to come home to an empty place? Come on, make it up to me."