My Boyfriend's Wedding Went Viral

I proposed to my boyfriend, Marcus, twenty-six times over our seven years together.

The first time, he said he wasn't ready to settle down yet.

The second time, he said he loved the sweet thrill of just dating.

The fifth time, he said the proposal should be the mans job.

......

On the twenty-sixth time, he finally said yes.

I was over the moon. I spent six months planning our dream wedding, but the date kept getting pushed back over and over again.

Every time, Marcus would wrap his arms around me and pull me close.

"Whether we have that piece of paper or not, Im already yours, Chloe. A wedding is just a formality."

"My love for you is enough."

Thinking about how incredibly attentive and caring he had been over the last seven years, I convinced myself he just had a fear of commitment. So, I was willing to wait.

Until today, when I was scrolling through Instagram and stumbled upon a trending post: Our First Chat Logs & Wedding Photos.

The user bragged in the comments:

"Only six months of dating, and he already couldn't wait to marry me."

Everyone in the comments section was gushing over their fairytale romance. But I was frozen, staring at the groom in the photos.

Wasn't that my commitment-phobic boyfriend?

I put my phone down and looked toward the bathroom.

Marcus was taking a shower. His phone was sitting right there on the nightstand.

The lock screen was a picture of us in Bali last year.

I picked it up and unlocked it. Nothing.

His contacts list was clean. His Snapchat was clean. His gallery was clean.

I let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh.

There are so many look-alikes in this world.

Maybe I was just seeing things.

Just as I was about to put the phone back, the screen lit up.

A message popped up from a contact saved as "Dr. Carter." It was a photo.

I froze. When did he even get to know a doctor?

My finger moved on instinct, tapping open the photo.

In the picture, my boyfriend was passionately kissing a strange woman.

A woman I had never seen before in my life.

"Dr. Carter" wasn't a doctor at all.

He had purposely changed her name to that because he knew even if I saw it, I wouldn't suspect a thing.

The sound of running water stopped. I quickly put the phone back exactly where it was.

Marcus stepped out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel. Seeing me sitting up, his eyes filled with concern.

"Chloe, honey, why aren't you asleep yet? Its so late."

He walked over and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead.

"Are you on your period? Cramps? Let me get you some Midol and hot tea."

The moment he turned and walked into the kitchen, I grabbed his phone again.

I opened the chat with Dr. Carter. The sweet, flirty messages between him and that woman were endless.

Did you miss me today?

Always. Every second.

Im taking off next week. Can you make it?

Of course. Just tell me where.

Photo after photo popped up. Restaurants, movie theaters, hotel hallways...

There were even a few pictures of him sleeping, the warm, dim lighting illuminating a bedroom I had never seen before.

I didn't have the courage to scroll any further.

I heard the water pouring in the kitchen, and then the light clicked off. Marcus walked back in, holding a steaming mug.

"Here, drink it while it's hot."

I took the mug. Watching the steam slowly rise and disappear into the air, I suddenly felt like the man standing in front of me was a complete stranger.

I thought seven years was enough to truly know someone.

But just five minutes ago, I realized he could play a double life so perfectly that not a single seam showed.

Marcus sat down beside me. Just like he did every month during this time, he gently placed his hand on my lower stomach.

"Let me rub it for you. It'll feel better soon."

I instinctively shrank back a little.

"I'm just really tired. I want to sleep."

He paused for a second but didn't say anything. He pulled the blanket up over my shoulders.

"Okay, get some rest. Let me know if it hurts too much."

Marcus lay down beside me. In the darkness, his hand crept back over, resting on my waist, gently massaging me.

I closed my eyes, staying completely still.

Seven years. For seven years, every time I had cramps, he would hold me like this.

Sometimes he would massage me until I fell asleep, and other times he wouldn't sleep at all, just staying awake to watch over me.

Over these seven years, Marcus had given me a sense of security that I completely relied on.

His hands were warm. He massaged me gently for about half an hour before finally stopping.

I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling.

The streetlights peeked through the curtains, casting a clear silhouette of his face.

Looking at him, I actually found myself wondering if he had a secret twin brother.

Was it possible that the man on that phone wasn't him?

But I knew better. He was an only child.

His mother had a difficult labor with him and could never conceive again.

He had told me this more than once, with a hint of sadness in his voice, saying how lonely it was to grow up without siblings.

The man sending those texts was him.

The man sleeping right next to me, who had just spent thirty minutes massaging my stomach, was the exact same person.

And in a place I knew nothing about, he called another woman his wife.

The next morning, Marcus was up by six.

He picked up his phone, seamlessly replied to a message on the "Dr. Carter" chat, and then locked it.

The entire sequence of movements was so smooth, done without a single second of hesitation. He didn't even glance my way.

He didn't need to check if I was asleep.

He knew that even if I saw him on his phone, I wouldn't think twice about it.

After that, Marcus went to the bathroom, and then to the kitchen.

The sound of eggs cracking, the sizzle of the pan, the hum of the toaster, the whirring of the exhaust fan.

I lay in bed, smelling the food, but my stomach was tied in tight knots.

He walked in carrying a tray, placing the breakfast on my nightstand. He leaned down and patted my shoulder.

"Rise and shine. I made your favorite sunny-side-up eggs."

After I got up, Marcus did what he had done for the last seven years.

He folded the blankets, made the bed perfectly, fluffed the pillows, and tucked in the corners.

I took two bites but had absolutely no appetite. I stood up and started organizing the closet instead.

Marcus had to go to the office today. His suit was hanging on the outermost rack.

I took it down, casually checking the pockets.

Inside the right inner pocket, there was a small paper receipt. I opened it.

It was a receipt from a boutique hotel. The date: March 17th.

My birthday.

That day, he told me he had an urgent meeting with a client and had to cancel our birthday dinner. He had even sent me a video to prove it.

In a VIP private dining room, he had held up a glass to the camera, smiling warmly.

Happy birthday, Chloe. Im so sorry I can't be with you tonight. I'll make it up to you as soon as I get back.

I had eaten dinner alone that night, watching that video over and over, telling myself that he couldn't help it because of work.

But now, holding that tiny receipt, my fingers started to tremble.

I stood before the closet, clutching the paper in my fist, while the sound of Marcus sipping his coffee echoed behind me.

Everything felt so normal. So normal that it felt like a perfectly crafted lie.

I hung the suit back up, turned around, and forced my face into a neutral expression.

"Hey, I was scrolling through Instagram last night and saw this cute boutique hotel. It looks really nice. Maybe we should go there for a weekend getaway sometime."

He looked up from his mug.

"Oh, yeah, that place is super popular. A few guys at the office recommended it. They said the brunch is amazing, but parking is a nightmare."

He paused, then added, "If you like it, we should go. But well have to book well in advance."

I nodded. He put his head back down, focusing on his phone.

I stared at the side of his face, a cold chill running down my spine.

No hesitation. No stuttering. His eyes didn't even flicker.

He told that lie faster than I could even process it.

After Marcus left for work, I looked around the apartment we had so lovingly decorated together.

Suddenly, the tears came crashing down.

I had learned to numb myself to crying at a very young age.

For as long as I could remember, my parents did nothing but scream at each other. Over money, over chores, over any little thing that could trigger a fight.

I used to try and pull them apart, but I quickly realized it was pointless. Eventually, I stopped trying.

I would lock myself in my bedroom, sitting on the cold floor, listening to the muffled screaming outside.

When it finally went quiet, I never knew if they had fallen asleep or just walked away.

No one ever opened my door to check on me.

No one cared if I was crying, sleeping, or just staring into the dark.

I learned early on that screaming your feelings out doesn't work if no one is listening. Its better to keep it all inside.

Since then, I always dreamed of having my own home. A home with someone who would actually notice me.

Marcus had entered my life like a savior. For seven years, he had taken care of me with absolute perfection.

Like the time I got severe gastroenteritis and ran a dangerously high fever in the middle of the night.

He had called an Uber at 3 AM, stayed up with me at the hospital all night, and never closed his eyes once.

He checked my temperature every hour, wiped my sweat, and made a fresh batch of chicken soup before dawn, feeding me spoonful by spoonful.

Lying in that hospital bed, looking at his tired face, I had thought:

This is it. Hes the one. Im going to marry this man.

So, I started proposing. Once, twice, five times, ten times, twenty-six times.

Every time he rejected me, I told myself it just wasn't the right time.

That he had financial worries, that he needed more timenot that he didn't love me.

In seven years, the thought of him cheating had never once crossed my mind.

But now, the truth stared me in the face. He had never actually chosen me.

After I finished crying, I went into the study.

His old iPad was sitting on the bottom shelf of the bookcase, covered in a thin layer of dust.

He rarely used it because he said the screen was too small. Once he got a new one, this one was completely abandoned.

I plugged it into the charger, waited for it to power up, and logged into his iCloud.

He had given me his password years agoit was the date of our first anniversary.

Once the cloud synced, I opened the photo library.

The first photo was from New Year's Eve.

Marcus was wrapping his arms around that woman, standing in a crowded square.

Fireworks illuminated their faces. She was laughing, looking back at him, and he was kissing the top of her head.

I remembered that New Year's Eve. Marcus had told me he had to spend it with his parents.

At midnight, he had sent me a video of the fireworks outside his parents' house.

His voice had whispered over the clip: Happy New Year, baby. See you tomorrow.

I thought he was being a good son.

I had saved that video. I had even posted it on Instagram.

I kept scrolling through the photos. It was filled with pictures of their trips together.

Over and over again. Beaches, mountains, cozy cabin getaways, small towns.

Every single trip lined up perfectly with the dates he told me he was traveling for business.

I closed the gallery. I opened his Snapchat messages. The logs with her started four years ago.

Four years ago, we had already been together for three years. Four years ago, I had already proposed to him multiple times. I was trying so hard to convince him back then.

I was telling him about the meaning of marriage, about how natural it was for two people who loved each other to take the next step.

And back then, Marcus was just starting to text her.

At first, it was just casual banter. Then came the dinner dates, then the weekend trips, and then he started calling her "sweetheart" in the chat.

I cross-referenced the timelines.

Marcus had known her for four years.

They had been officially "together" for six months.

And those six months were the exact six months I had spent planning our wedding.

I sat on the floor, the cold blue light of the tablet screen reflecting on my face.

During those six months, I had saved endless venue photos, made budget spreadsheets, drafted guest lists, and compared catering menus from three different hotels.

Every time I showed him my plans, he would casually flip through them and say:

"Let's wait a bit. There's no rush."

Or: "Work is so stressful right now, babe. Give me some breathing room."

I thought he was genuinely stressed.

But now, looking at their chat logs, they were choosing wedding venues together. They were picking out wedding dresses and rings together.

I sat in the quiet house all day. At 5 PM, the front door clicked open.

Marcus walked in, carrying a paper bag from a bakery.

"I got that cake you said you wanted to try. I passed by the shop today and remembered."

He kicked off his shoes, set the bag in the kitchen, and came over to sit on the couch. He turned to look at me.

"Hey, whats wrong? You look pale."

I stared at him. Seven years. I thought I knew every line on this face.

"Marcus, have you ever genuinely wanted to marry someone?"

He froze for a fraction of a second. Then he laughed, completely natural.

"Of course I do, Chloe. Otherwise, I wouldn't have kept you on the hook for seven years."

He used the word kept you on the hook.

Like these seven years were just something he was casually wasting, and he was dragging me down with him.

I didn't cry. I thought I would, but my eyes were completely dry.

He was still looking at me, a hint of confusion in his eyes.

"Why are you asking that all of a sudden? What's going on in that head of yours?"

I shook my head. "Nothing. Just a random thought."

Marcus reached out and patted my hand.

"Don't overthink it, babe. You know I love you the most. Are you hungry? I'll make dinner."

He stood up and headed into the kitchen. Soon, the clinking of pots and pans started.

I sat on the couch, lit up my phone screen, and stared at that photo of them under the New Year's Eve fireworks.

The one where he was kissing the top of her head.

He had never kissed me like that.

He was gentle with me, he was attentive, and he fulfilled every duty of a boyfriend flawlessly.

But that raw, instinctual affection? He had never given it to me.

From the kitchen, he started humming. A light, upbeat tune. I recognized the songit was what he hummed whenever he was in a great mood.

I locked my phone and slid it into my pocket.

His voice drifted out of the kitchen. "Chloe, do you want something heavy and spicy tonight, or something light and comforting?"

I paused. "Light, please."

"You got it."

I leaned back against the couch, staring toward the kitchen.

I didn't know what I was going to do next. But one thing was crystal clear.

He said he had kept me on the hook for seven years.

Well, it was time for me to get off the hook.

Three days later, our scheduled wedding date arrived.

The date we had locked in, only for him to postpone it yet again.

That evening, he sat down next to me, let out a heavy sigh, and wrapped his arm around my shoulder.

"Chloe, we need to push the wedding back again. The project at work is in its final crunch, and none of my coworkers can make it."

"Just wait a little longer. Once things settle down at work, I promise Ill give you the perfect home."

"Marriage is just a piece of paper, anyway. You know you're the only one in my heart."

I leaned against his shoulder, not moving an inch.

The last time, his excuse was that his parents needed a medical check-up.

Once he finished speaking, I asked softly, "Do you really want to marry me, Marcus? Or... is there something else going on?"

He went quiet for two seconds. Then he chuckled, tightening his grip around me, speaking to me like I was a stubborn child.

"What else could be going on? Im just a little terrified of commitment, and work has been insane. Let's just get through this month."

"Think about it. Weve lived together for years. How is this any different from being married? Does that piece of paper really matter that much?"

I stayed silent.

He continued, "Even without that paper, Ill treat you right for the rest of my life."

"Come on, don't worry so much. I have a business trip tomorrow. Just for one day. Ill be back the day after."

I had looked at that girl's wedding post at least ten times.

Their wedding was tomorrow.

That night, just like every other time he "traveled for work," Marcus prepared a whole day's worth of meals for me, carefully sticking post-it notes on each container.

Chloe, heat this up for lunch tomorrow. Two minutes in the microwave.

Chloe, heat the soup up before you drink it. Don't drink it cold.

Chloe, eat breakfast. Don't just drink coffee on an empty stomach. Your acid reflux will flare up.

He stacked the containers neatly in the fridge, closed the door, and turned to look at me.

"You got all that, Chloe?"

Suddenly, my eyes welled with hot tears, and a tear rolled down my cheek.

He startled, immediately walking over. He knelt down in front of me, reaching up to wipe my tears.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong? Are you hurting somewhere?"

I shook my head. "No... I just realized we haven't been apart in a while. Im going to miss you."

He smiled, pulling me into his chest.

"Its only one day, babe. Ill be back tomorrow night. Theres nothing to be sad about."

I buried my face in his chest, closing my eyes.

His heartbeat was incredibly steady.

I wondered, what was he feeling right now?

Guilt? Relief? Or absolutely nothing, just running through a routine?

Keep things calm on this side today, go to the wedding tomorrow, and come back the day after to keep up the lie.

I didn't know. And I didn't want to know anymore.

The next morning, Marcus kissed my forehead and left.

I counted to thirty, sat up, and began packing my bags.

Once everything was packed, I drove straight to Marcus's wedding venue.

I found the AV technician in charge of the main projector screen.

I handed him a USB flash drive, along with a thick envelope of cash.

"Could you do me a favor? Just before the vows, play the video in this folder on the main screen."

He took the drive, glanced at the envelope, and then looked at me with a hesitant expression.

"Uh... what kind of video is this?"

"Just a surprise vlog from the groom's side," I said with a sweet smile.

He opened the envelope, counted the bills, and after a few seconds of silence, he gave me a quick nod.

"No problem."

"Also, when it plays, please stream the live feed to this link," I added.

Without staying a second longer, I turned and walked out.

When I reached the hotel entrance, I hailed a cab and headed straight to the airport.

Traffic was heavy. I leaned against the window, watching the blur of trees rush past.

I remembered the scene I used to play over and over in my head when I was younger.

A long, white veil trailing on the ground.

Someone holding my hand. The sunlight hitting us from the side, casting our long, overlapping shadows on the floor.

It was a very simple, ordinary picture.

So ordinary that I couldn't even tell if I had seen it in a movie or just conjured it up in my own mind.

During the worst years of my parents' fighting.

I would sit on the cold floor of my locked bedroom, waiting for the screaming to end, and just run that scene in my head.

Over and over again, changing the details, changing the lighting, but one thing never changed.

The person holding my hand was genuine.

That was the only thing I wanted back then.

I didn't care about a lavish wedding, a massive guest list, or a huge diamond ring.

I just wanted the person standing next to me to mean it. I wanted their "I do" to come straight from the heart.

Just that one thing.

Twenty-six proposals. I thought I was so close to getting it. And instead, I got a double life.

At 10:20 AM, while waiting at the airport gate, my phone buzzed.

It was a text from the AV tech:

"About to play the USB drive now."