So I'm the Side Chick Now

I stared intently at that photo on my phone screen.

I stared at the photo that had been mosaicked by the original poster to hide the background, leaving just the back of a man in a tailored suit and his hand on a woman's waist.

That hand was defined, with a simple platinum band wrapped around the ring finger. Though others might not recognize it, I could never mistake it; after all, I had spent an entire afternoon picking out that ring at the jewelry store last month.

I even recalled how the sales assistant told me that they were new matching rings for couples, representing "a promise to be each other's one and only".

Michael Hall, my fiance, smiled as he put it on. He then kissed me on the forehead and said, "I must have done something right in my past lives to be lucky enough to marry you in this one, Dakota."

Yet, at that moment, the ring that represented "a promise to be each other's one and only" had appeared in another woman's post, where she accused her husband of infidelity.

I forced myself to calm down and clicked on the woman's profile picture. I noticed that her social media feed was surprisingly simple, filled almost entirely with photos of her son.

Her son, who looked roughly two years old, had two small dimples when he smiled. He was holding a feeding spoon with pumpkin puree all over his face in the photo. "He called me 'Mommy' today, but someone's away on a business trip again. He didn't hear it."

I scrolled further down her feed and found another photo, showing a table full of home-cooked food—honey-garlic ribs, sauteed seasonal vegetables, and fish chowder.

I looked at the caption. "He said he'd be home this weekend, but he suddenly called and said he had to meet with a client again. I know the food's all cold now, but I couldn't bring myself to throw it away."

I couldn't help but feel a prick in my heart as I looked at every single post of hers. It didn't hurt much, but the pricks were endless, slowly drawing blood.

I still wasn't convinced, so I kept scrolling. I finally found a post from more than a year ago. It was a photo of an ultrasound with a simple caption. "We're going to be a family of three soon! Daddy says he'll work hard to earn money for the baby's formula!"

I noticed a familiar profile picture among the likes on the post. It was a silhouette shot taken against the light. I had asked Michael why he used that photo, and he told me it was because he thought it looked artistic.

I looked at that same profile picture showing up on the other woman's social media feed, feeling as if someone had slapped me across the face.

It was dead quiet in the bedroom, save for the soft humming of the central air conditioner.

There was a photo of Michael and me on the nightstand, which was taken last year during our ski trip in Snowmere. He wrapped me up completely in his down jacket, leaving just our two faces out, which were flushed red from the cold. We were smiling like two fools.

I used to think this was what true love looked like, but now, when I looked at this photo again, I just felt a bitter sense of irony.