I'm Second Place in My Own Marriage

The next day at noon, I arrived at the cafe early.

I ordered a long black and sat in the farthest corner to wait.

A little past 12:00 pm, Lindsay walked in. She had short hair, wore a white shirt, and wore barely any makeup. She sat down quietly and ordered a vanilla latte.

She was so ordinary that she was almost plain. But I saw the ranking above her head at a single glance, and in first place was Lionel.

My husband was the most important person in her life, and she, too, was his; the two rankings interlocked end to end, like a closed circle.

And I was shut outside that circle.

After she sat down, she turned on her laptop and began editing images.

I got up to go to the restroom. As I passed her table, I caught a glimpse of her phone case out of the corner of my eye.

Inside the transparent case was a photo of two figures standing side by side by the river, their backs to the camera.

I knew that section of the railing and that streetlamp so well that I could recognize them even in my dreams. I also recognized the bracelet on her wrist; Lionel had bought almost all my jewelry from that same shop over the years.

I walked into the restroom and stood in front of the mirror for a few seconds before turning on the faucet. Cold water hit my face and trickled down my chin.

My hands wouldn't stop trembling.

When I got back to my table, I picked up my coffee and walked over to where Lindsay was seated.

"Hi, I see you come here often too?" I asked, sitting down across from her.

Lindsay paused for a beat, then smiled politely.

"Yeah, I really like the vanilla latte here."

I looked at her cup of milky coffee, and it felt like my chest was being crushed.

We chatted idly for a bit—about cats, the weather, and the new desserts the cafe had just launched.

She spoke slowly and softly, without a trace of aggression. That only made my throat tighten even more.

As casually as I could, I asked, "Are you here by yourself?"

Lindsay looked down and smiled.

"No, my boyfriend has a meeting at noon and is coming to pick me up later."

When I heard the word "boyfriend", everything inside me went utterly still.

Lindsay didn't know. She knew nothing at all.

In her world, Lionel wasn't a married man, but simply her boyfriend. And in his other life, I had been erased so thoroughly that I wasn't even allowed to exist.

Lindsay's phone suddenly rang, and she answered sweetly, "Yeah, I'm at the usual spot. You're almost here? Okay."

After hanging up, she smiled at me. "Sorry, my boyfriend's here. He's a really good guy."

Before I could say a word, the cafe door swung open.

Lionel walked in, holding two vanilla lattes. His gaze fell naturally toward Lindsay, the corners of his mouth already lifting into an easy smile.

But then, his line of sight shifted an inch to the side. The moment he saw me, his entire body froze. The smile seized on his face, and the color slowly drained from it.

The next second, his fingers went slack. The paper bag hit the floor, and the cup lids popped open. Coffee spilled everywhere, instantly filling the air with the cloying sweetness of vanilla.

The entire cafe fell silent.

Lindsay looked back and forth between Lionel and me, dazed.

Lionel remained standing at the doorway, as if nailed to the spot.

I slowly rose to my feet and walked toward him.

The spilled coffee snaked across the floor by his feet, like a dream that had never truly belonged to me.

I stopped in front of him and, for the last time, looked up above his head.

In first place was Lindsay, in second place was his mother, and third—me.

A faint smile touched my lips.

"Lionel, do you know what place I hold in your heart?"