Marrying My Wife To Another Man

I took the HR job at my wifes company without telling her.

On my third day, while navigating the employee portal, a wedding PTO request popped up in the queue.

I clicked it.

The co-applicants listed: my wife, Lauren, and a junior employee named Beckett.

Using my administrator credentials, I pulled up Beckett's file. The headshot showed a sharp, pretty boy with clean-cut features. His title: Executive Assistant to the Director of Marketing. Laurens assistant.

I searched his name on Instagram. His profile was wide open.

His latest post was from yesterday.

A pre-wedding portrait.

Lauren, radiant in a cascading white lace gown, her arms wrapped around him from behind.

The caption: "The rest of my life starts with you, Mrs. Beckett."

I scrolled back to the portal, my cursor hovering over the blue "Approve" button.

I clicked.

[Request Status: Approved.]

Have a wonderful wedding, Lauren. I personally cleared your schedule for it.

Our company-wide Slack channel lit up. It was Beckett.

He posted a digital inviteelegant gold foil on deep crimsonwith a link to their wedding website. Right below it was the same photo of Lauren hugging him, laughing like shed never known a single sorrow.

The channel erupted.

"Congratulations, Lauren! He's gorgeous!"

"What a beautiful couple. Made for each other!"

"Wishing you a lifetime of happiness!"

The notifications cascaded down my screen, each chime a tiny, jagged twist in my chest.

I stared blankly at the glass screen, watching my coworkers shower them with digital confetti. My wife, Lauren, was planning to marry another man in front of everyone we worked with.

Before the thought could fully form, the heavy glass door of the HR suite swung open.

Beckett walked in, carrying a large silver platter of high-end wedding chocolates, his face glowing with a sheer, untouchable happiness.

"Hey everyone, grab some sugar! Help me celebrate," his voice was bright, buoyant with the kind of joy you couldn't fake.

The team flocked to him, laughing, offering congratulations as they took handfuls of truffles.

Beckett worked his way through the room, eventually stopping right in front of my desk.

He set a physical, gold-embossed invitation and a small bag of dark chocolates on my keyboard.

"You have to come, Luke," he said, giving me a warm, earnest smile.

I looked up, meeting his eyes. "Congratulations."

I picked up a chocolate, unwrapped the foil, and popped it into my mouth.

It was sickeningly sweet.

"Oh, wow, Beckett, that's gorgeous. Is that an emerald?" one of my colleagues asked, pointing to a vintage-style emerald signet cuff on his wrist.

Beckett blushed, touching the green stone gently.

"Yeah, Lauren gave it to me. She said it brings out my eyes, and that I'm one of the few people who can pull off vintage gold."

The chocolate in my mouth suddenly tasted like ash.

That cuff was my first-anniversary gift to Lauren.

Three months ago, she came back from a business trip and told me shed lost it at a hotel. She had cried, blaming herself, promising shed find a way to make it up to me.

She hadn't lost it. She'd given it to him.

Beckett shifted his hand, and the platinum wedding band on his ring finger caught the fluorescent light.

"And she designed this ring herself," he continued, holding his hand up. "My name is Beckettlike a little brookso she had this 'Water Lily' motif engraved around the band. See how the petals flow? Its completely custom."

The office sighed in unison.

"Lauren is so incredibly romantic."

"Seriously. A woman who puts that much thought into things? You hit the jackpot."

I remembered asking Lauren for a custom ring of our own years ago.

"Were already married, Luke," she had snapped, not even looking up from her iPad. "Why waste money on sentimental garbage?"

Beckett kept talking, his face flushed with the thrill of being loved.

"Shes always so busy, but she still drives twenty minutes out of her way just to bring me those warm pistachio croissants from that bakery near the old district."

That bakery was directly below my apartment.

I had asked her a hundred times to grab a box on her way home.

"Its too far," shed tell me, her voice dripping with irritation. "I'm not fighting traffic for a pastry."

From the office to our place, and from the office to Beckett's apartment, were in completely opposite directions.

It wasn't the traffic she hated. It was me.

"She told me that once were married, Ill handle all the finances. She wants me to have total control of the estate."

Meanwhile, my salary had been directly deposited into our joint account, managed entirely by her, since our third week of marriage. Shed told me that a stable household required a single hand on the wheel.

I stared at this young, blissfully ignorant boy. The sweeter his stories, the tighter the knot in my throat became.

"Luke? You okay?" Beckett asked, noticing my silence.

I forced a thin, hollow smile.

"Lauren is a remarkable woman. You two deserve everything."

"Thanks, man. Really appreciate it."

When I got home that evening, the smell of garlic and rosemary hit me.

Lauren was standing by the stove, wearing an apron, humming to herself. When she heard the door click, she poked her head out, her face bright with a domestic warmth I hadn't seen in months.

"You're home! Wash your hands, dinner's almost ready."

She brought out a plate of honey-glazed pork chops. My favorite. Or, at least, what she thought was my favorite.

"Made your favorite tonight. Dig in."

I set my bag down and went into the bathroom. I turned on the faucet, letting the rushing water drown out the sudden, violent urge to throw up.

When I sat down, Lauren had already plated the food.

"Hows the job hunt going?" she asked, putting a piece of asparagus on my plate.

She asked this every single day.

It used to feel like support. Now, it felt like surveillance.

"Still looking," I said, pushing the rice around with my fork. "No rush."

"Take your time. There's no pressure. I can support us."

I almost laughed out loud.

Support us. On the two hundred dollars of "allowance" she transferred to my personal account every month, while Beckett wore a vintage emerald cuff that would have taken me two years of saving to buy.

Lauren put her fork down.

"Oh, by the way. Quick heads-up."

"Yeah?"

"The firm is sending me to Miami for a conference. I'll be gone about two weeks."

I looked up at her. "Two weeks? That's long."

"I know, but we have a major account launching there. Its crucial."

She lied with a flawless, practiced ease.

"When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow morning."

I nodded. "Are you packed? Do you need help?"

"No, Ive got it." She placed a pork chop on my plate. "Eat up. Youve been looking so thin lately."

The glistening meat sat on my plate, making my stomach churn.

It was Becketts favorite.

But I was severely allergic to pork.

I set my fork down, the metal clinking against the ceramic.

Laurens brow furrowed, the warm wife persona instantly evaporating.

"What's wrong? You didn't even touch it."

"I'm just tired today, Lauren."

"Tired?" She let out a sharp, dry laugh. "You sit at home all day job hunting and you're tired? I work a fifty-hour week, come home, make you a scratch dinner, and I'm not complaining."

I looked at her, truly looked at her, and felt a cold wave of estrangement.

Who was this woman?

When did she become so cruel?

"Lauren, when was the last time we actually talked?"

She blinked, then waved her hand dismissively, clearly annoyed.

"What is there to talk about? We're talking right now."

"I have a million things to handle at the office, and then I have to come home and cater to your moods. What more do you want from me?"

"Stop being so ungrateful, Luke."

I didn't say another word. I just watched her.

She paced between the living room and the bedroom, tossing linen shirts and light t-shirts onto the bed.

"Its Miami, so just light stuff," she muttered to herself, not looking at me.

"Yeah," I murmured, my eyes falling on the sleek, silver suitcase sitting open on the floor. "New suitcase?"

"Oh. Yeah. The wheel on my old one broke." She zipped up a compartment. "Picked it up during lunch."

I walked over to the bed, picking up a white linen button-down she was about to pack.

"There's a smudge on the collar of this one. You should swap it."

I tossed it back into the closet and pulled out a fresh, pressed white shirt instead.

She paused, looking at me with a fleeting, unreadable expression. She didn't say anything, just took the fresh shirt and packed it away.

"Did you pack your stomach meds?" I asked. "Your acid reflux has been bad."

"Yeah, I have them. Go to sleep, Luke. My flight is early."

The next morning, before the sun had even cleared the horizon, the wheels of her new suitcase clicked against our hardwood floor as she left.

I waited five minutes, grabbed my car keys, and followed her.

She drove at a steady, leisurely pace, but she didn't head toward the airport. Instead, she took the highway south, eventually turning into a luxury gated community called Amberley Estates.

I parked across the street, watching her car disappear into the underground parking structure.

Ten minutes later, she walked out of the elevator lobby. She was wearing the white linen shirt I had chosen for her, but her suitcase was gone.

The glass doors of the building opened.

Beckett came running out, wearing a sharp, tailored white suit, his face beaming as he took her hand.

So this was her real home.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a Slack message from the CEO, Mr. Davis.

"Luke, can you post an announcement to the general channel?"

"To celebrate Laurens upcoming wedding, the company will be closed next Monday so everyone can attend. Hotel details and registry info to follow from Lauren shortly."

I sat in my car, my fingers hovering over the phone screen.

I opened the main company channel with three hundred employees.

I copied, pasted, and hit send.

The channel immediately exploded with replies.

"Wow! A paid day off! Thanks, Mr. Davis!"

"Double win! A wedding and a free Monday!"

"Congratulations, Lauren! So happy for you two!"

"See you guys on Monday!"

I watched the messages scroll by, then typed my own response:

"Congratulations, Lauren. Wishing you two the absolute best."

Beckett replied with a blushing emoji. "Thank you so much, everyone!"

Then Lauren jumped in. "Thank you, Mr. Davis, and thanks to my amazing team. Cant wait to celebrate with you all on Monday."

I locked my phone, put the car in drive, and went home.

Back to the house we had shared for three years.

Monday arrived.

I wore my best black suit, pairing it with a dark, muted tie.

I stood in front of the mirror, combing my hair back until it was perfectly neat.

The wedding was at the St. Regis, the most expensive hotel in the city.

In the lobby, a massive, soft-lit portrait of Lauren and Beckett greeted the guests.

Becketts parents stood near the entrance, radiant with pride, welcoming everyone.

One of my HR team members, Drew, was managing the guest book. When he saw me, he froze.

"Luke... you're here."

I nodded, sliding a thick, heavy envelope onto the table. "Of course. Wouldn't miss it."

Without waiting for his response, I walked into the grand ballroom.

The room was nearly packed with our coworkers. The atmosphere was loud, celebratory, and buzzing.

I found a quiet table in the back corner. It was empty.

Shortly after, Laurens parents arrived, ushered in by Beckett's family.

Laurens mother, Lydia, wore an elegant designer sheath dress, her face flushed with excitement.

The ceremony was scheduled for 11:18 AM.

The house lights dimmed. The music swelled, and a warm spotlight focused on the heavy double doors at the back of the room.

The officiants voice echoed over the speakers.

"Welcome, friends and family. Today, we gather to celebrate a love that feels destined."

Beckett stood at the altar in his white tuxedo, a brilliant, nervous smile on his face as he stared down the aisle.

The doors swung open.

Lauren, breathtaking in a sweeping white gown, walked down the carpet, her arm linked with her fathers.

The room erupted into applause.

At the table next to mine, two marketing executives whispered.

"He's so handsome. Lauren really hit the jackpot."

"I heard she paid for the whole thing herself. That tuxedo alone is bespoke Italian silk. Mustve cost a fortune."

Laurens father, Gregory, placed her hand in Beckett's, whispering a brief blessing.

Beckett nodded, his eyes shining as he led her up the steps to the altar.

They stood hand-in-hand.

The officiant spoke again.

"Before they take their vows, let's take a look at the screen behind them to celebrate their journey together."

The massive projector screen at the back of the stage flickered to life.

On stage, Lauren turned to look at the screen, and in that instant, every ounce of color drained from her face.