Chapter 3: Broken Dreams, New Roads

Back then, Graham had given up his right to inherit Whitaker Holdings to marry Savannah. But when it came down to it, Savannah refused—she didn’t want to give up her dance career just to become the Whitaker family’s daughter-in-law.

It was like a soap opera—star-crossed lovers, family drama, dreams put on hold. I read the stories with a weird sense of detachment, wondering how much was true and how much was just wishful thinking. It was almost entertaining, in a sad way.

Years later, the lovers who missed their shot when they were young had both become the best at what they did. Every glance, every gesture between them seemed to carry the old feelings, right there for everyone to see.

There was something bittersweet about it—the idea that they’d both gone out and conquered the world, but still carried a torch for each other. The public ate it up, rooting for their reunion like it was the season finale of a favorite show. It was all so dramatic, so romantic. For them, anyway.

...

The comments under the news were flooded with praise for how perfect they were together. Only one anonymous account kept posting:

[Fake, he already has a wife.]

It was a lonely voice in a sea of adoration, totally drowned out by the flood of romance. I wondered who it was—maybe someone who knew me, maybe just someone who still believed in marriage vows, even for strangers.

Quickly, a bunch of people piled on:

[So what if he has a wife? No one can replace the first love of youth!]

[He’ll get divorced and chase after Savannah again.]

The comments stung, but I couldn’t look away. It was like watching a train wreck—awful, but impossible to stop watching. My finger hovered over the like button. Did I want to join in? Be a part of the conversation about my own life? Ridiculous.

I was just about to like their comments when the trending page filled with a new photo. It was backstage after the performance—Graham handing flowers to Savannah. She held the bouquet, smiling like a little kid. And Graham, always so serious, looked at her with a rare, gentle smile. Even though it was faint, it was the softest I’d ever seen from him.

I stared at the screen, frozen. There was something intimate in the way he looked at her, a tenderness I’d never seen before. Savannah’s happiness was contagious, her smile lighting up the whole room. My heart ached in ways I didn’t have words for. I felt like I was intruding on something private, something real.

My heart suddenly stopped, and a wave of emotions crashed over me—

Jealousy. Regret. Longing. They all tangled together, sharp and raw. I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to catch my breath. The truth was right there: I’d never been the one to make him smile like that.

We’d known each other for decades, married for five years. I’d never seen Graham smile at me like that. He’d never given me flowers.

The realization stung, familiar and dull. I tried to remember—had he ever brought me a single daisy? The best I could recall was a half-hearted anniversary card, just his initials scribbled inside. Not even a post-it note.

If Savannah was the one Graham longed for, then I was just the person the Whitaker family needed him to marry.

I was the stand-in, the safe choice, the fallback when love wasn’t an option. I’d always known it, deep down. Seeing it splashed across headlines and photos just made it impossible to ignore. I was never the star of this show.

Savannah, Graham, and I all grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same schools. But the two of them studied piano with the same teacher since they were kids, so they were always closer.

I remembered those summer afternoons—Savannah and Graham side by side on the piano bench, their laughter drifting through the window. I’d watch from the hallway, trying not to feel left out. They had their own world, and I was just orbiting the edge of it. Always an outsider.

The first time I got Graham’s private contact info was half a month after we got married. He’d worked overtime for half a month straight without coming home. My mother-in-law found out and showed up, telling me I wasn’t taking good enough care of him.

She came in, arms full of groceries, her voice sharp and brisk. “A wife’s job is to keep her husband happy, Autumn,” she scolded, as if I’d missed a memo. I nodded and bit my tongue, wondering if she even saw me at all.

The first time I texted him: [Sorry to bother you, will you be home for dinner tonight?]

My hands shook as I typed it, the words stiff and uncertain. I waited, staring at the screen, feeling ridiculous for even asking.

Half an hour later, he replied: [May I ask who this is?]

I just stared at the message, stunned. Was he kidding? Knowing Graham, probably not. My face burned as I typed back.