8 Times Almost a Wife

As soon as I stepped through the door, my phone rang. It was Ian.

"Daphne, are you home?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle, just like before—as if none of today's accusations or outbursts had ever happened.

That tone of his, once familiar and comforting, now sounded hollow. A polished mask stretched too tightly over a bruised truth.

I nearly hung up. But no matter how much I wanted to sever things cleanly, there were still threads between us that needed cutting. He was the one who had done wrong, so why was I the one left fleeing?

"What do you want?" I asked.

"I'm at a hotel. I just sent you the location. I think the interior is pretty nice. You should come see if you like it."

I hung up, puzzled. A hotel? Was this about our wedding?

But that didn't sound like Ian. He never took the initiative with things like this. I always had to push him, coax him, remind him. And now, out of nowhere?

Still, I put on some light makeup and went to the hotel he sent me.

The moment I stepped inside, I realized it was completely different from the other eight venues I'd looked at before. In another league altogether.

I turned to him, confused. "Didn't you say you wanted to keep the wedding simple? Why this hotel all of a sudden?"

Before he could answer, Jess descended the stairs, talking animatedly with the hotel manager, pointing here and there like she owned the place.

"Daphne, this place is amazing, right?" she said with a bright smile. "Ian said he's going to throw me a birthday party here."

My confusion turned to stone.

Ian walked toward her, his expression darkening as he glanced at me, something like disdain flickering across his face.

"Don't talk nonsense," he snapped. "I only asked you to come see the hotel. Don't go imagining weddings."

The words hit like a slap. I bit down hard, grinding my back teeth together. My hands curled tight inside my sleeves, trembling from the effort to keep myself together.

"It's nice," I said, slowly. "Very nice."

Jess stepped closer and looped her arm through mine.

"Then you have to come to the party, Daphne. I'd love to see you there."

She leaned in, and just between the two of us, gave me a smirk of unfiltered mockery.

She knew. Knew we'd fought because of the wedding venue. Knew exactly how to twist the knife.

And she did.

The fury boiled over before I could stop it. I shoved her.

She shrieked and tumbled to the ground, crying dramatically, half-sitting as tears welled in her eyes.

"I just invited you to my party," she sniffled. "Even if you don't like me, did you have to push me like that?"

"Are you insane, Daphne?!" Ian rushed to her side, cradling her like she was made of glass, whispering soft reassurances. Then he turned on me, face twisted with anger.

"If you're sick, go get help. Don't act crazy here. Jess saved my grandfather's life—if she gets hurt, even selling you wouldn't be enough to pay it back!"

Something cracked inside me. My chest constricted until I could barely breathe. But I still met his gaze, eyes shining with unshed tears.

"You're right," I said, my voice low. "If I'm sick, I'll go get treated. So, I hope you and Jess grow old together. And have lots of kids."

With that, I turned and walked out.

Back home, my makeup was ruined from crying. I didn't bother fixing it. I packed my things and moved out.

I left behind only one thing: the termination agreement for our engagement.

For the next two days, there was complete silence between us.

He didn't come home. I didn't reach out.

I watched from Jess's Instagram as the two of them played their way across the city—every photo framed in affection, every caption a dagger.

[The best birthday gift I've ever received!]

The final image was of them kissing in a fully decorated banquet hall.

I liked the post. Left a comment: [Best wishes.]

Then I closed the app with a bitter smile.

In all our years together, he never had time to travel with me. Said it was boring. Said it wasn't worth the trouble. But he seemed to be having the time of his life now.

The day of Jess's birthday party arrived. It also happened to be my first day on the job at the hospital.

For the first time in two days, Ian sent me a message. [Today is Jess's birthday party. You better show up, or don't blame me for what happens next!]

I didn't respond. I was too busy with work.

Then the emergency bell rang at the nurses' station. We rushed to Bed 18.

An elderly man had slipped into a coma. The monitor was beeping urgently.

The doctor finished his examination and turned to me.

"Call the family. We need surgery right away."

I picked up the station phone and dialed the number.

"Hello, is this the family of George Murray?"

There was a moment of silence. Then I heard a familiar laugh on the other end.

"Daphne, is that you? Hah. Since when did you become a nurse? You really went all out, huh? Did you think calling from a landline would fool me? Do you even realize how disgusting it is—the way you keep clinging to me like this?"

I hadn't expected it to be Ian.

And somehow, he thought I was trying to trick him.