The Reality Show Romance

I went on the reality show The Perfect Partner with my wife, Sophia.
Knowing her stomach is sensitive in the mornings, I woke up before dawn to slow-cook a nutrient-rich bone broth.
My father-in-law, Arthur, just scoffed. Stop pretending. It's just performative nonsense for the cameras.
later, when we hit traffic on the way to our date, I rented a tandem bicycle. I pedaled us toward the restaurant, trying to recreate the carefree days of our youth, laughing the whole way.
My stepdaughter, Lily, rolled her eyes when she saw the footage. "So fake. You can tell hes desperate for attention."
My wholehearted devotion was met with a zero-star rating from my wifes family.
It wasn't until the production crew, in front of millions of viewers, aired a montage of Sophia and her late husband, Lucas.
The scenes were natural, overflowing with love.
That was the moment I finally understood why my careful, tiptoeing attempts to please them never made the grade.
It wasnt that I wasnt good enough.
It was simply because I wasn't Lucas.
Nothing more.

1
The massive LED screen on the soundstage lit up.
They were playing home videos of Sophia and Lucas. No one had warned me. I just stood there, in front of a national audience, watching my wife be deeply, madly in love with a ghost.
On screen, Sophia stood on her tiptoes, pulling Lucas down for a kiss. It was intimate, electric.
With me, she refused to even hold hands on camera, claiming she wanted to "maintain boundaries."
She left the porch light on for Lucas when he worked late. She peeled oranges for him, removing every bit of the bitter pith because she knew he hated it. Every frame dripped with a passion I had never tasted.
My chest ached, a physical tremor running through my heart. But the red "ON AIR" light was blinking, so I kept my face composed.
When the clip ended, Sophia and Arthur were wiping away tears. I dug my fingernails into my palms, grounding myself so I wouldn't interrupt their grief.
The host turned the microphone to Arthur.
"Arthur, it seems you're quite moved. If you had to score Lucas and your current son-in-law, Ethan, out of ten, what would you give them?"
The studio fell dead silent. It was a trap, obviously designed by the producers to stir up drama.
Arthur didn't hesitate. He held up the '10' paddle. "I give Lucas a ten."
Then, he turned to me and raised a '0'.
A ripple of awkward murmurs tore through the audience. A producer off-camera prompted him, asking for the reason behind the zero.
Arthurs voice was cold steel. "Because he doesn't even have the right to be compared to Lucas."
The audience gasped. The directors eyes lit up; they had their viral clip.
Not a single person stepped in to smooth things over. I was a joke, left hanging out to dry in front of the entire country.
I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and endured until the director yelled, "Cut!"
Walking back to the cast house, I realized my palms were sticky. I had dug my nails in deep enough to draw blood.
Sophia walked beside me, her voice light. "Don't take it to heart. Dad just speaks his mind. He didn't mean any harm."
My heart froze over.
She didn't say, "He was wrong." She didn't promise, "I won't let him do that again." She just excused it as "speaking his mind."
I pulled the corners of my mouth into a dry smile. "Yeah. He speaks his mind."
"So when I make soup, I'm performing. When I give you a massage, I'm showing off. Sophia, what exactly do I have to do to get a passing grade from you and your father?"
Sophia fell silent. She wasn't used to me pushing back. Since we married three years ago, I was always the one apologizing, the one smoothing things over.
We walked a bit further until she suddenly jogged to the roadside and picked a small bouquet of wildflowers.
She shoved them into my hands, a peace offering. "I remember you love Cornflowers. Let's put them in a vase when we get back... don't be mad, okay?"
I looked down at the flowers in my hand.
Blue Cornflowers.
Specifically, the flowers Lucas loved most in the video clip we just watched.
After all these years, her subconscious was still wired to Lucass preferences. I had told her at least ten times in three years that my favorite flowers were Sunflowers.
She just never remembered.
Those with a heart don't need to be taught; those without one will never learn.
I didn't correct her. I let Sophia carry the blue Cornflowers back to the house. She stood by the window, humming a tune as she trimmed the stems, the unpleasantness of the studio already forgotten.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
It was a message from Abby:
I saw the show. Why do you let them humiliate you like that?
If you want out... I'm always here.
Two lines of text, and my nose stung. Even she couldn't stand watching it. She felt my pain from a distance, yet my wife couldn't remember my favorite flower while standing right next to me.
I stared at the screen for a long time before turning it off.
The front door burst open.
My stepdaughter, Lily, was back from her segment. She screamed "Mommy!" and launched herself into Sophias arms, clutching her ragged teddy bear.
She saw me sitting near the door first, but she didn't even blink. She looked right through me.
Three years. She had never called me "Dad." She barely even called me "Ethan." I was just furniture to her.
"Cornflowers! Daddy's favorite color!" Lily pointed at the vase, delight in her voice.
Sophias hand froze mid-snip. She realized her mistake. She glanced at me, panic flickering in her eyes.
When I didn't say anything, she quietly took the vase down and hid it in a corner where I couldn't see it.
Lily pouted immediately. "Mom, why are you moving them? Put them back!"
I felt a wave of exhaustion so heavy it nearly crushed me. I didn't want to hear Sophias excuse. I stood up and walked out to the patio.
The production crew had set up a fire pit for a barbecue dinner. Embers glowed in the twilight. I crouched down, warming my hands over the heat.
Sophia, sensing the tension, came out carrying a few foil-wrapped sweet potatoes. "Let's roast these together."
Habit kicked in. I didn't want her to burn her fingers, so I took them from her. We sat side by side, the silence between us thick and heavy.
Lily ran out, her tone filled with nostalgic wonder. "Daddy used to double-wrap the potatoes so they wouldn't burn! Thats how they get super sweet!"
My hand, in the middle of turning a potato, paused. I said nothing.
She kept going. "And when they were done, Daddy would always break them in half and give me the sweet middle part first."
Sophia sensed the shift in my mood and whispered, "Lily, that's enough."
Lily looked genuinely aggrieved. "But Daddy did do everything better! I'm not lying!"
Pop.
A spark from the fire pit snapped, landing squarely on the back of my hand. The skin turned red instantly.
The physical sting drilled straight into my heart. My eyes burned. The accumulated grievances of three yearsthe insults, the comparisons, the invisibilitysurged up like bile.
My voice came out raspy. "But the person roasting them right now is me."
"And your dad isn't coming back. Is he?"
Lily wailed.
She clutched that faded bear to her chest and sprinted into the house.
Sophia looked at me in disbelief. "How could you say that? She's just a child!"
She started lecturing me, her voice rising, but my ears were ringing.
I couldn't stop the trembling in my voice. "A child? She's twelve years old! Her father has been gone for five years!"
"I can accept that she doesn't like me. But you? Are you really going to watch her drag that bear around everywhere she goes, trapped in a shadow she can't escape for the rest of her life?"
"Sophia, are you loving her, or are you ruining her?!"
My words were needles, popping the bubble of denial Sophia had lived in for half a decade. Her face flushed crimson. In her panic, she lashed out.
"This is a matter between my daughter and me! I don't need an outsider telling me what to do!"
I froze.
Sophia froze, too.
It was their family matter. Then what was I?
I nodded slowly, my voice terrifyingly calm. "Right... I've always been the outsider to you people."
Panic flooded Sophias face. She reached out, trying to grab my hand. "No, Ethan, wait, I didn't mean it like that"
From inside the house, Lilys screams tore through the air.
I sidestepped Sophias touch. "Go comfort her."
Sophia looked torn. But the screaming got louder.
"I don't want him! Mom, kick him out!"
"Daddy promised he'd bring us to the beach! Why is he here?!"
"Make him leave! I want Daddy!"
Sophia turned and ran inside. Soon, her soft, cooing voice joined the chaotic sobbing.
I stood alone on the patio.
The ocean was just a few hundred yards away. The night wind was wet and biting.
God, it was cold.
When we were selecting locations, I told them I hated the coast in winter. It aggravated my joints. But mother and daughter had been adamant.
Now I knew why. This was where they had made memories with Lucas. This was their shrine.
I was just the extra body. The fool trying to squeeze into a picture frame that had no space for him.
The last tiny flicker of hope in my chest sputtered and died.
I smiled. It was a smile of pure relief.
I pulled out my phone and opened my chat with Abby.
I typed three words:
I want to leave.

The reply came instantly.
I've been waiting for you to say that. Don't worry. I'll handle everything.
I knew she could. But this relationship started with me, and it had to end with me.
No, I typed back. I'll handle the production team.
I pocketed the phone and walked toward the editing bay. The lights were blazing; the editors were pulling an all-nighter.
I stood in the doorway, watching the monitors. They were reviewing the solo interview segments. The crew saw me but didn't stop medrama is content, after all.
I watched Sophias "Chemistry Test."
The producer asked: "What is Ethan's favorite color?"
Sophia sat in silence for a long time before guessing wrong.
"What is Ethan's favorite movie?"
Sophia frowned, thinking hard, then shook her head apologetically.
"What food does Ethan hate?"
She listed three things. All of them were wrong. Those were things she hated.
Finally, the producer, sensing the disaster, threw her a softball question.
"Okay, then when is Ethan's birthday?"
This time, Sophia didn't hesitate. She rattled off a date immediately.
My stomach dropped like a stone.
That was Lucas's birthday.
My birthday is in winter. She gave a date in the middle of summer.
I stared at the screen, waiting for the anger. But it didn't come. There was only a vast, hollow sadness.
I didn't have the energy to be angry anymore.
I found the showrunner. When he heard I was terminating my contract, his face twisted. "Ethan, look, the contract is signed. We're halfway through filming. If you walk now, its a breach. Its huge damages."
I understood. Without the clown to be kicked around, where would their ratings come from?
"Calculate the penalty," I said flatly. "I'll pay it. I have one condition: I leave tonight."
The director opened his mouth to argue, but his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and snapped to attention. His face went pale.
"Yes... yes, ma'am. I understand. Absolutely."
He hung up, looking at me with a mix of shock and newfound fear.
My phone buzzed. Abby.
I know you hate confrontations. It's handled.
The car is waiting. I put a bag of roasted chestnuts in the back seat. See you soon.
I unclipped my microphone and handed it to the director.
"But... what if Sophia asks?" he stammered.
I glanced back at the beach house. Mother and daughter were probably hugging right now, crying over Lucas, bonding over their shared grief.
There had never been any room for me in that house.
"She won't care," I said.
I turned around and walked into the dark, endless night.
I didn't look back.

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