Chapter 1: The Door Closes on My Old Life

I’d been sneaking around for months, hiding late-night texts from Aubrey under the cover of work emails, always making sure Natalie never picked up on a thing. Guilt should have gnawed at me, but all I could feel was that burning, reckless thrill—like I was finally rewriting my own mistakes.

I used the perfect excuse—a better school district for our daughter—to trick Natalie into a fake divorce.

Here in suburbia, nobody bats an eye at parents obsessed with school zones. Natalie and I would talk for hours about getting Emma into Ridgecrest Elementary. I played the concerned dad, feigning worry about test scores and PTA drama, while quietly slipping divorce papers in with "mortgage paperwork." It was a low blow, but it worked.

When she came back from a business trip, there was already a new woman living in the house.

The place reeked of fresh paint and a hint of Aubrey’s perfume—a sharp, powdery scent that clashed with Emma’s plush toys and the lingering aroma of morning coffee. Natalie’s suitcase wheels squeaked across the tile, her eyes narrowing as she spotted the stranger unpacking dishes in her kitchen.

I braced myself for a meltdown, expecting reality TV-level drama—yelling, shattered plates, at least a door slammed so hard the neighbors would talk. Part of me almost craved it, just to justify what I’d done.

But she didn’t explode.

It was unsettling. She just stood there, face unreadable, lips pressed into a thin line. She looked at Aubrey, then at me—like she was finally seeing us for who we really were. Not a tear, not even a quiver in her voice.

Watching her quietly drag her suitcase out, not looking back, I felt a twisted kind of joy.

She didn’t say a word. Just rolled her battered suitcase past the family photos and Emma’s kindergarten art stuck to the fridge, and out the door. The weight in my chest lifted—I was free, or so I thought.

From now on, I wouldn’t have to deal with my boring old wife anymore.

The thought buzzed in my mind like static. I pictured the future: no more awkward silences at dinner, no more feeling judged for wanting something more. This was freedom.

I couldn’t wait to kneel in front of my first love, already in her ripped fishnet stockings, and finally embrace my brand-new life.

Seeing Aubrey sprawled on our old living room sofa—Natalie’s throw pillows tossed aside—made my heart pound. This was it, the start of something wild. I felt like a teenager sneaking into an R-rated movie, amazed I’d actually pulled it off.

When Natalie opened the door, Aubrey and I had just come out of the bathroom—not even dressed yet.

The bathroom door creaked open, steam spilling out behind us. Aubrey laughed, bare shoulders catching the hallway light. We froze as the front door swung open and Natalie walked in, suitcase in hand, her face unreadable.

The moment our eyes met, I instinctively shielded Aubrey behind me.

I grabbed the nearest towel, holding it up like I could erase what Natalie had just seen. My heart hammered in my chest. I half expected her to scream, but she just stood there, staring.

Aubrey pushed my hand away, her voice suddenly bold. "Why are you protecting me? I’m your wife now, not some side piece."

Aubrey stepped out, chin high, daring Natalie to say something.

Aubrey squared her shoulders, taking up more space than I’d ever seen. She crossed her arms, lips curling into a smirk, totally comfortable in the chaos.

Natalie didn’t flinch.

Her poker face was flawless. She took in Aubrey’s swagger and my guilt, never blinking.

She turned to me. "So, buying a house in the right school district was just a cover—you really just wanted to marry her?"

Her voice was soft, almost businesslike, as if she were discussing groceries, not the end of our marriage. The bluntness made me squirm.

For a split second, guilt prickled in my chest. I remembered Emma’s last birthday—Natalie lighting candles, singing off-key. But the memory faded fast.

Her calmness made me angry.

Her refusal to react, to give me the satisfaction of drama, felt like a slap. Her silence made me look like the villain, and I hated it.

"Yes. The same day we signed the divorce papers, I got the marriage license with her."

I spat out the truth, almost daring her to react.

Natalie frowned, just a little. "If you wanted a divorce, you could’ve just said so. Why go through all that trouble to trick me?"

She sounded more tired than hurt, her voice never rising above mild annoyance. Like she’d seen this coming a mile away.

I opened my mouth, then shut it. There was no good answer—not one I could say out loud.

Aubrey rolled her eyes, arms crossed tight. "Natalie, stop pretending you’re so understanding."

Her voice rang out through the living room, loud enough for the neighbors to hear. "Everybody knows you’re obsessed with Derek. If we’d told you straight up, would you really have let go?"

She let the words hang, daring Natalie to argue. "And even if you could, why should Derek’s hard-earned money go to you?"

Aubrey shot me a look, waiting for my backup.

Natalie’s gaze was steely. "If you’re the one who wrecked someone’s family, you don’t get to lecture me."

She didn’t even blink. There was a quiet strength in her voice, honed by years of dealing with other people’s messes.

I couldn’t stand her coming after Aubrey, so I snapped, "Natalie, Aubrey was my first love. I knew her before I ever met you."

It came out harsher than I meant. Even I could hear how flimsy it sounded.

Natalie just tilted her head, almost amused. "So I’m the one who ruined things between you two?"

For a split second, I remembered her old sarcastic smile—the one she’d flash over takeout containers in our first apartment.

I was left speechless. For a moment, it hit me how little this was really about Natalie.

Back then, the breakup with Aubrey had nothing to do with Natalie.

A flash of memory: Aubrey’s voice shaking as she called me small-minded. Natalie hadn’t even entered my life yet.

The truth was, Aubrey left because I was broke.

That sting had faded over the years, buried deep. Now, standing here in the mess I’d made, it burned again.

"My husband and I are what you call ‘rekindling an old flame.’ The best love stories are like ours—after all these years, we still couldn’t forget each other," Aubrey said, not even pretending to be sorry.

She slipped her arm through mine, making it clear I was hers now.

A strange sense of pride swelled inside me. I’d won, hadn’t I? Gotten back what I always wanted?

Being with Aubrey again hadn’t been easy.

After all that time, the chance to start over felt almost like destiny.

We’d survived years apart.

I needed to believe this was fate—anything else was too hard to face.

Wasn’t this what everyone dreams of? A second chance at true love?

I pictured those viral reunion stories online: old flames, soulmates, fate stepping in. I convinced myself this was that.

Aubrey pointed at Natalie, her finger sharp as a judge’s gavel.

"You really think you can compete? You haven’t even tried to keep up. What makes you think you deserve to be the wife of a successful man like Derek?"

Her words were cold, but she delivered them like she’d practiced for years—dismissive, cutting.

"Don’t fool yourself into thinking you’re getting anything back."

The room felt suddenly colder. Even I winced at the harshness.

Aubrey flashed her ring, holding up her hand so the diamonds caught the kitchen light. "Just so we’re clear, Derek and I tied the knot—so you’re the one out of place here."

She planted her feet, making it obvious this was her home now.

"I want you out. Right now."

The command lingered, sharp as broken glass. Aubrey’s chin was high, daring Natalie to push back.

Natalie didn’t even acknowledge her.

She just focused on me, her voice low but piercing. "Where’s Emma? What happens to her now?"

Her question knocked the wind out of me. Emma’s bright eyes flashed in my mind, her laughter echoing from the backyard.

Emma—my daughter with Natalie.

She’d just turned five—lively, fearless, the light of our lives. I remembered her birthday party in the park, her begging me to push her higher on the swings.

Aubrey pinched my arm, her nails sharp, snapping me back to the present. The message was clear: don’t back down.

I gritted my teeth. "I’m not going to care about Emma anymore. I want a brand-new life."

The words felt sour. But Aubrey’s eyes demanded conviction, so I forced myself to say them.

"Alright."

Natalie’s reply was cool, almost rehearsed. She picked up her suitcase, holding my gaze for a heartbeat—a silent warning, or maybe just resignation—then turned to leave.

She walked out with her head high, not a trace of defeat. The front door clicked shut, echoing down the hall.

As the door clicked shut behind Natalie, I felt the first crack in my brand-new life—but I was too busy celebrating to notice.