My Boyfriend Told Me He Was Enlisted, But Was Married to Another Woman

"When you fainted today, I kept thinking... is this how you've been living all these years without me? I’m such an idiot. I should've thought about you more. Maybe I never should've joined the army," Chand murmured.

I squeezed his hand and shook my head. "No, I’ve always supported your choices." Even the choice to leave.

Back home, exhaustion pulled me under. Somewhere in the fog of sleep, I heard Chand’s friends talking. "Damn, man, how do you live in a tiny place like this?"

"I heard you're calling it quits. If you are, let me take over. Girls are easiest to get when they're hurting."

"Yeah, I haven't tried the whole 'pure love' thing yet. Might be fun for a change."

The sharp scent of cigarettes drifted through the room. Chand ran his fingers through my hair. "Go ahead. Try if you think you can take her from me."

His hand stilled when he felt the dampness on my face.

Panic flashed in his eyes as he pulled me close, brushing his lips against my tears. "Jayla, what's wrong?"

I curled into him, voice barely above a whisper. "I dreamed you didn't want me anymore."

His body went rigid. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "Are you hungry? Let’s go eat something."

His deflection told me everything. My grip on his sleeve tightened. "Can I have a meal with your family?"

Silence stretched between us. He just stared, completely unprepared for the question.

Then, we went out. Stopped at the supermarket, I loaded the cart with fruit and gifts. Chand tried to stop me, but I stubbornly shoved everything into the car.

Then we pulled up to a modest little house. His parents were warm, welcoming, their faces lighting up at the gifts.

Chand busied himself in the kitchen while I sat with his mom, listening to childhood stories about a boy who grew up running barefoot through the countryside. Not the Chand I knew. Not the one who was all sharp suits and expensive cologne.

We ate, talked, watched TV, just like a normal family. Then his phone rang. Urgent. He stepped outside to take the call. I followed, pretending to wash fruit.

His voice was low but firm. "Sandra, stop pushing me. I’ll just tell her my parents don’t like her and then I’ll end things."

Sandra’s voice dripped with sarcasm. "Since when do you need a whole dramatic setup just to break up?"

The fruit slipped from my hand, landing with a soft thud.

Chand hung up, turned to me and grabbed my hand. Without thinking, he brought my bleeding finger to his lips, sucking on it like it was second nature.

It was something I had taught him years ago. Some habits never fade. The sharp clatter of a knife hitting the cutting board snapped me back. Chand guided me to the sofa, making sure I was settled before heading back to the kitchen.

My phone buzzed. [Didn’t you take the money?! How am I supposed to raise this baby without him?! Will you only be satisfied if I die?]

The words felt like a vise around my chest, squeezing the air out of me. How did my love end up hurting someone like this?

Chand walked back over, pressing a strawberry against my lips. "What’s wrong?" His voice was soft but laced with concern.

I shook my head. He wiped away a stray tear with his thumb, frowning.

"Are you getting emotional because of your period? You’ve been crying a lot lately." Then he smiled a little. "I won’t let you cry anymore, alright?"

Later, after we left his so-called parents' house, I hesitated at the door, watching it close behind me. If only this was where the story ended.

Chand dropped me off so I could prep for my interview. Then my phone buzzed again and somehow, I ended up at the bar.

Through the crack in the door, I saw Chand’s broad shoulders. Sandra was on his lap, her clothes slipping off, her cheeks flushed.

I remembered when I was the one under him, when he was rough, impatient, leaving me too sore to move. When I whined that I was exhausted, he would just kiss my back and murmur “I love you” over and over again.

But now, he was slow. Careful. Like she was something fragile. Sandra moaned, threading her fingers through his hair as his lips pressed against her collarbone.

The room was filled with soft gasps and rustling sheets. I tore the necklace from my neck, the sharp edge digging into my palm. Blood dripped onto the floor.

Chand looked up at her. “Why are you so nervous? How could some disposable trash compare to you?”

Sandra spotted me first. She took Chand’s hand, her expression unreadable. "Chand, do you remember this moon tattoo?"

He smiled. "Of course, it’s my name."

Sandra lifted her wrist, revealing a sun tattoo. “Yeah. We were made to orbit each other.”

Years ago, Chand had traced his tattoo with a smile, his voice soft. “Jayla, you’re my moon. Always shining, always mine.”

The phone slipped from my fingers and hit the ground with a sharp clack. Chand froze. He shoved Sandra aside and stepped into the hallway, his eyes landing on the necklace I had dropped.

Something about it gnawed at him, familiar, but wrong. He reached into his pocket and pulled out its missing half.

His eyes widened. Then he saw the blood. He fumbled for his phone, calling me. A cheerful ring. Then the cold, mechanical voice of an automated response.

Sandra said something, but he wasn’t listening. Then, shouting from the hallway. "A girl just got hit by a car! She went flying!"