Chapter 13: Marcus

On the contrary, it’s most likely a colleague from her company.

I pictured the office holiday parties, the company picnics. There were always a few guys who hovered, a little too eager to refill her wine glass or linger at her side. I made a mental list of names.

I planned to ask my buddy Marcus to keep an eye out for me. Marcus and Natalie work at the same company, and he’s even her direct boss. When Natalie interviewed for this company, I’d asked Marcus to look after her.

Marcus—a guy I trusted like family. The best man at our wedding. When Natalie started at his firm, I felt relieved knowing someone had her back. It never crossed my mind that he could be the problem.

Getting cheated on is the hardest thing to talk about with those closest to you. But after thinking it over, I decided to talk to him face-to-face.

I showered, dressed, tried to iron the wrinkles from my shirt. My hands shook as I rehearsed what I’d say, trying to find the words that wouldn’t sound crazy or desperate. In the end, I just texted Marcus and asked to meet over coffee.

So I went to the building where Marcus and Natalie work, and called him from a coffee shop downstairs. Marcus came down quickly. He wore a well-tailored suit, hair slicked back, looking every bit the successful corporate guy.

The coffee shop smelled like burnt espresso and cheap cologne, the kind of place where secrets always felt out of place. The barista recognized him and shot him a familiar smile. He slid into the booth across from me, grinning.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, man. What, you finally get over your office-phobia?” Marcus joked as he sat down.

His laugh was easy, genuine—almost enough to set me at ease. Almost. I forced a weak smile and looked down at my untouched latte.

Honestly, being in a fancy office building like this makes me uncomfortable. I used to work on the upper floors of such places, but after I was fired for taking the fall for my boss, I grew tired and wary of office politics. So for the past two years, I haven’t looked for another job—I just stayed home.

The glass and steel buildings, the elevator music, the endless meetings—it all felt suffocating now. I remembered the humiliation of my last day, the cardboard box of my things, the fake sympathy from coworkers. After that, home was my sanctuary.

Not that I did nothing. Because I love cooking, I started a food channel on YouTube and TikTok and gained a decent following these past two years. With channel income and occasional ad deals, I’m actually making good money. After all, I don’t have the pressure of raising a child.

It started with simple cooking videos in our cramped kitchen—Natalie rolling her eyes in the background, but never complaining about the extra groceries. Now, I had over 100K subscribers, people DMing me for recipes, brands reaching out with deals. It wasn’t corporate, but it was mine. And it paid the bills, even if no one in Natalie’s family seemed to notice.

My phone buzzed with another subscriber notification, the blue glow of the screen barely lighting up the dark kitchen.

Thinking of ‘child,’ my mood darkened.

The word sat heavy in my throat. Every time someone asked about kids on my channel, it felt like a punch to the gut.