I met Rebecca at a work event 5 years, 9 months, and 15 days ago. She was the first person to notice that my calculations on the company's fiscal year profits were off by 15%. If she hadn't pointed it out, I might've lost my job. We stayed up all night fixing my mistake—exhausting, yet somehow, I didn't feel tired in the morning. We laughed the whole time.
My colleagues called me "The Calculator" because I was always good with numbers, but that day, I missed an update. Fifteen days later, we started dating. One year and nine months later, we got married. We've been married for four years.
Rebecca was different. I know it sounds cliché, but it's true. She came into my life when I needed change—and it felt like she completed me. Like I was a puzzle, and she was the missing piece. She loves puzzles. She's smart like that.
But lately, it feels like I'm losing her. Not physically—emotionally. As if she got tired of this puzzle. Or maybe… she found a new one. No, I'd be crazy to think that. We've been together for nearly six years, and we've never questioned each other's loyalty.
That is, until 9 months ago—at my brother's wedding.
My brother, Emmanuel, had just married Layla. Well, Layla's the man of the relationship—she wears the pants, so to speak. They met at a bar, both reeling from breakups, bonded over drinks and hookups. Next thing you know—hitched. I guess Ed Sheeran was right: the bar is the best place to find a lover.
The wedding was simple—just family and close friends at Layla's family estate. The kind of event little girls dream about. After most guests had left, we stayed behind. Emmanuel wanted me and Layla to bond. We shared a glass of wine—probably older than my house. Meanwhile, Rebecca and my brother were nowhere to be found.
Layla and I talked for hours, oblivious to what our partners were up to. We agreed Emmanuel was a handful. We exchanged contact info—turns out we work in the same field. Then our partners returned, flushed and smiling, a bottle of wine in hand. I figured it was the alcohol.
I was wrong.
Rebecca started changing after that night. Coming home late. Saying it was work-related. I didn't pry—she valued her independence. But something felt off. She was distant. Still smiling, still kind, but hollow. Like I was talking to a shell of the woman I fell in love with.
Then, two weeks ago, I saw a text on Rebecca's phone. It was from Emmanuel.
"Last night was fun. I can't stop thinking about you."
I froze. I was going to ask her about it… until the next message came in. A picture.
Of him. Erect. Oiled up. "Now you won't stop thinking about me either."
I've been carrying that image like poison in my veins ever since.
And now, as I watch my brother and my wife dancing at a family function, I feel sick.
"How long have you known?" Layla asks beside me, handing me a glass of champagne.
"I just found out," I mutter. "I can't wrap my head around it… Wait—how long have you known?"
"Eight months," she replies calmly.
"Eight months?" I blurt. "How? When? Why?"
"You already know the when. As for the rest—we'll ask them."
"Why are you telling me this now?"
"I found divorce papers in his wardrobe yesterday," she says, exhaling. "I knew he was cheating. I didn't think he'd have the balls to leave me. I'm sure you've seen something similar in Rebecca's things."
"I did. She told me it was work-related."
"It's not work-related—it's marriage-related," she says, lighting a cigarette and offering me one.
I decline. My head throbs.
"So… how do you want to deal with this?" I ask.
Layla stubs out her cigarette. "Let's give them what they want. Not half, but enough money to run away to some tropical country."
I nod. "When?"
"Now. I called them."
Moments later, they arrive.
Layla lays it all out. Every detail.
They stare, speechless. Then Rebecca finally speaks.
"David… please don't tell me you believe her?"
"I'd rather believe her than the woman who slept with my brother."
Rebecca stares at me in shock.
"Just take the money and leave. I know you don't want this to go to court. You've never liked it when we fought," I say, voice steady, surprising even myself.
"But I love you," she sobs.
"No. You don't. You never did. I loved you—for 5 years, 9 months, and 15 days. But not anymore."
I walk toward the door.
"If I can't have you… then no one else can," she whispers.
She lunges.
With the hairpin I gave her once, as a gift.
She drives it into my neck.
The world turns cold and black.
—
I wake up with a start.
"What's wrong?" Rebecca asks, turning toward me.
"Nothing," I lie, breath heavy. "Just a very vivid dream."
"What are you doing awake so late?" I ask, watching her cross the room.
"Work stuff. I messed up some calculations and had to double-check everything."
"Wait—did The Calculator mess up numbers?" I tease.
"Ha! Very funny. And what about you, Mr. 'Vivid Dream'? Need me to hold you till you fall asleep?"
"I know you said that to mock me… but yes. I'd love nothing more."
I pull her close.
"5 years, 9 months, and 15 days I have loved you, Rebecca George. And I'll keep loving you forever."
"Forever's a really long time," she says, smiling, playing with my hair.
"I know." I whisper, kissing her.