She Lost Focus of Me in the Crowd

Lydia's eyes held no concern. Instead, there was only disdain.

"Clean this up and hurry up with the food. Everyone's starving."

The door closed behind her.

She didn't know about the tumor in my stomach that needed immediate attention, or that I'd just discovered at the hospital that our marriage was a complete sham.

My life had been nothing but a joke from the moment I fell in love with her.

The following day was Saturday.

Lydia left early in the morning, saying she had an urgent client to meet.

Philip, naturally, went with her.

The apartment was dead silent.

Suddenly, my phone lit up with a notification.

The profile picture, a candid shot of a woman from behind, looked familiar. But I recognized the woman's watch right away, as it was the one Lydia often wore.

I tapped open the profile.

The account didn't have many posts, but every single one made my blood run cold. The earliest was from five years ago, shortly after Lydia and I had "gotten married".

A photo showed two hands wearing matching wedding rings, resting on a marriage certificate. The caption was written in Astorian.

"Though it has to stay a secret for now, what the law recognizes is the only thing that lasts forever. Thanks, Ly."

A post from three months ago read, "She said she'd sponsor my PR card. All the documents have been submitted. Once it's approved, I'll officially be a Starbrougher."

Another post from two months ago read, "Someone secretly got me the new phone, saying I should have the best. I told her she didn't have to, but she said I deserved it."

There was a comment beneath. "Is that guy who's been hanging around your wife still bothering her?"

He replied, "Yep, he's like a stray dog that won't leave. Back in college, he used to wait outside her dorm building. Now he's followed her all the way abroad. He should take a look in the mirror—does he really think he's good enough for her?"

I stood in the middle of the living room with my phone in hand. The March sunlight streamed, yet I felt cold all over.

He wasn't wrong. I was the one who pursued Lydia.

On the first day of freshman year, I was taking photos around the campus with my camera when someone appeared in my frame. She stood in a white shirt, silhouetted against the sun.

The moment I pressed the shutter, I was done for.

After that, I followed Lydia all over campus.

She was the unattainable beauty of the law school, while I was the art major always trailing behind her with my camera.

Everyone said I wasn't good enough for her. However, with nothing but reckless courage and devotion, I somehow managed to become her boyfriend.

The year we graduated, my photography career was just starting to take off. I'd won two awards and received commissions from several magazines.

Then, she said she wanted to move to Starbrough. Without a second thought, I packed my bags and followed her there.

She held my hand, her eyes reddening. "Nathaniel, I promise I'll treat you right for the rest of my life. The marriage procedures overseas are complicated, so let's register our marriage here first."

After coming to Starbrough, I wanted to continue with photography. But with the language barrier, I hit dead ends everywhere.

Once, I took on a job but messed it up because I couldn't understand the client's instructions.

I came home and cried about it to Lydia.

"You didn't even pass Astorian Level Four, so why push yourself?" she asked with a frown. "Just quit it—I'll provide for you."

From then on, she deposited two thousand dollars into my account every month for living expenses. But that was barely enough to get by.

When I said I wanted to go back home to visit my family, she would frown and say, "I'm in the middle of an important case, so I can't leave just yet."

When I suggested going alone, she said, "What's the point of you going back by yourself? Wait until I'm less busy, and we'll go together."

I ended up waiting five years.

It turned out that all those excuses over the years—"I'm busy", "It's inconvenient", and "It's insensitive because of my profession"—were never the real reasons. The truth was, she never saw me as her husband at all.

My phone buzzed. It was a reminder from the hospital confirming surgery scheduled in three days.

What Lydia didn't know was that in the past five years, I'd never truly given up on myself.

I hadn't let Astorian slide. Even though I never passed Level Four, I could chat with locals for three hours without stumbling. Sometimes, I even secretly took on small photography gigs online.

Lydia never asked what I did during the day.

The day before my surgery, I got a call from an editor named Gary Floyd at a Luxorian-owned magazine I'd worked with before.

They were doing a feature on distinguished Luxorian professionals in Starbrough, and this issue's subject happened to be Lydia.

Gary knew I lived in Starbrough and had done some decent work in the past. So, he asked if I could take on a photography gig, offering generous pay.