Chapter 2: Married to the Dream

I sat down on the edge of the bed, hands trembling as I tried to recall last night. All I could piece together was a blur of music, laughter, and Carter’s smile.

Honestly, I never would have dared to dream this: the most popular guy in school, teachers’ favorite, idol of countless girls—somehow, he ended up as my husband.

It was like one of those Hallmark movies my mom loved—except this one came with a side of existential dread.

What happened after the SATs that led me to marry Carter Whitman?

Could it be…

A ridiculous thought popped into my head.

Did I somehow force Carter into marriage? Did I bully him, leaving him with no choice but to spend his life in silent suffering?

I pictured myself as some overbearing wife, and the thought made me cringe. Was I the villain in my own story?

Did I ruin his perfect life?

I swallowed and looked at him with sympathy.

Dream guy, I’m sorry. I never knew I could be so… domineering.

“Honey, what’s wrong? Why do you look like you’re about to cry?” Carter came over, brows furrowed in concern. “Are you feeling sick?”

He reached for my hand, but I pulled away, blinking back tears. The kid watched us, confusion all over his face.

Tears threatened again, my throat tight with guilt for Carter’s lost innocence.

“Sorry.”

He looked confused. “Honey, why are you apologizing all of a sudden?”

His voice was gentle, but worry flickered in his eyes. He sat down beside me, careful not to crowd me.

“Being with me must be tough, huh?” I muttered, guilt gnawing at me.

I looked down, twisting the ring on my finger, unable to meet his eyes. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

He was silent for a moment, then turned and went into the bedroom.

Me: "..."

I watched him go, feeling like my world was collapsing. The silence was heavy, broken only by the distant sound of cartoons from the living room.

Great, I must have really forced him. Now that I’ve brought it up, he’s decided to divorce me.

Suddenly, I felt so pathetic. I’d liked Carter for so long, and just when happiness was within reach, I’d ruined everything with a few careless words.

If only I’d just played along—after all, this was a bizarre situation, I could have pretended.

All because of my honest, straightforward nature.

Not long after, Carter came out of the bedroom holding a document.

He looked serious, the paper in his hand thick and official-looking. I braced myself, my stomach twisting in knots.

He’s got the divorce papers ready already? That was fast.

I stared at the folder, my hands clammy. My mouth was dry, my heart racing.

He must have been planning this for a while.

My heart ached. Looks like my suspicions were right.

I didn’t know why Carter had married me, but clearly he’d been unhappy, always ready to end things.

Though I was sad, I didn’t want to keep him trapped.

I forced myself to sit up straight, wiping my eyes. I tried to look brave, even though I felt like a little kid about to lose her favorite toy.

With tears stinging my eyes, I shakily took the document—only to realize it was some kind of technical file.

It was glossy, with a blue cover and a NASA logo in the corner. The paper was heavy, the diagrams inside full of complicated spacecraft and technical jargon that made my brain short-circuit.

Wow, even divorces in 2022 come with high-tech paperwork?

I flipped through the pages, pretending to understand. My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped it. There was a diagram of a rocket engine, a cross-section of a Mars lander, and a spreadsheet I couldn’t decipher.

The document was all in English, and there was a planet pictured on it. I wracked my brain but couldn’t identify it.

It looked like Mars, but maybe it was just a stock photo. I tried to look interested, but mostly I was baffled.

“What… is this?” I asked, trying not to let on how lost I was.

Carter gently pulled me to sit on the sofa.

He sat close, but not too close, like he was giving me space. The kid climbed into his lap, clutching the stuffed dinosaur.

I looked at his hand—long fingers, smooth and fair, almost like marble. I remembered how he used to spin a basketball on his finger between classes, always with a pen behind his ear. Now, those same hands held mine, steady and warm.

His grip was reassuring, and for a moment, my shoulders relaxed.

I wanted to hold his hand back, but I hesitated.

Okay, I admit it—I’m a coward with big dreams and zero guts.

But I squeezed his hand anyway, just for a second. My heart skipped a beat.

“Honey, I…” Carter began, but just then the doorbell rang, cutting him off. He smiled, “I’ll go get the door.”

He gave my hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. The kid scrambled off his lap and ran to the door, calling, "Grandma!"

Strangely, I felt relieved.

Even though I’d braced myself, if he really brought up divorce, I’d probably break down.

But what happened next made me want to cry even harder.

Because Carter’s parents arrived!

They swept in like a force of nature—his mom with a casserole dish, his dad carrying a bag of groceries. The house filled with the smell of baked mac and cheese and the chaos of cheerful greetings. Someone dropped a tray of brownies on the counter, and the kid shrieked with joy.

Seeing the two smiling elders, I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I forced myself to smile and greet them despite my social anxiety.

I stood awkwardly, smoothing my robe, and managed, “Mr. Whitman, Mrs. Whitman, hello.”

As soon as I finished, their expressions changed.

Carter’s dad looked at his son, eyes narrowed. “Did this boy give you trouble?” he asked, stepping forward with mock seriousness, like he was about to intervene.

He swung a playful kick at Carter, who dodged, raising his hands in protest. It was the kind of goofy, loving dynamic you’d see on a classic sitcom—maybe something out of Everybody Loves Raymond.

Me: "..."

What was going on?

I glanced at Carter, who looked just as bewildered as I felt. The kid giggled, clearly used to this kind of family chaos.

Before I could react, Carter’s mom grabbed my hand and sat me down on the sofa, earnestly comforting me. “Mariah, all couples have arguments. Look at your dad and me—sometimes when we fight, I send him to the garage to think things over. If a man messes up, just give him a good scolding, it’s fine.”

She squeezed my hand, her eyes warm and understanding. I felt like I’d been swept up into a big, boisterous American family gathering.

She shot a glance at Carter’s dad, who instantly shrank from fierce lion to timid kitten, muttering something about "not wanting to sleep in the garage again." I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

My jaw dropped.

Was this how American in-laws were? I’d expected awkward small talk, not a full-on family intervention.

“Carter, hurry up and apologize to your wife,” Carter’s mom scolded him again, her voice full of authority.

Carter blinked, glancing between me and his mom. He looked like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

He was just as confused, but came over, eyes worried and a little hurt. “Honey, what’s wrong? Are you hiding something from me?”

He knelt in front of me, searching my face for answers. I felt a pang of guilt—he really didn’t deserve this.

“Actually, I…”

I started, but Carter’s mom cut me off.

“What could Mariah possibly hide from you? It’s definitely you who made her unhappy,” his mom insisted, folding her arms and daring Carter to disagree. Carter just sighed, running a hand through his hair.

I gave Carter an apologetic look. Sorry, I didn’t know your parents were so intense.

I tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. Carter shrugged helplessly.

But seeing my dream guy getting scolded, I couldn’t help but speak up. “Dad, Mom, I’m fine. Carter didn’t give me any trouble. He’s… he’s really good to me.”

My voice trembled, but I meant every word. Carter squeezed my hand, relief flooding his face.

Carter’s mom finally relaxed.

She patted my knee, beaming. “That’s what I like to hear. You two are good together.”

She chatted with me for ages—mostly about having a second child. I was so embarrassed I wished I could sink into the couch.

She pulled out her phone, showing me pictures of her friends’ grandkids, talking about baby names and daycare options. I nodded along, cheeks burning.

Finally, she handed me a card, smiling. “Mariah, there’s fifty thousand in here. Just a little gift from us. You two should think about a second child—we have time to help with the baby, so you can enjoy family life.”

She pressed the card into my hand like it was a coupon for a free coffee, not a small fortune.

Fifty thousand. As a casual gift. That was more than my entire college tuition—or a down payment on a house in most places. My brain short-circuited.

I stared at the card, my mind reeling. Was this real life?

Thank you, I’ve just been humblebragged into oblivion.

I tried to smile and thank her, but all that came out was a strangled squeak. Carter’s dad winked at me, as if to say, "Welcome to the family."

Then, like a whirlwind, they whisked the baby away and disappeared, leaving just me and Carter.

The house was suddenly quiet, the air thick with the smell of casserole and the weight of fifty grand burning a hole in my pocket.

I swallowed, awkwardly handing him the card. “Uh… here.”

I held it out with two fingers, like it might bite me. Carter just laughed, shaking his head.

Honestly, the card felt heavier than gold. The most money I’d ever seen was for school tuition. Now, his mom just hands me fifty grand.

I glanced around, half expecting someone to jump out and yell "You’re on Candid Camera!"

What kind of life is this?

I have a dream husband, supportive in-laws, and a small fortune in spending money. It’s like something out of a fantasy.

I half expected to wake up any minute and find myself back in my old bedroom, posters of Taylor Swift on the wall.

“Why give it to me?” Carter smiled, stroked my hair, and—while I was distracted—kissed my cheek. His lips were warm, the kiss quick but electric. I caught a whiff of his aftershave, the warmth lingering on my skin. My heart skipped a beat. I stared at him, stunned.

I was totally numb. Electrically numb.

I could still feel the tingling on my cheek. Carter grinned, clearly enjoying my reaction.

Before, I only dared admire him from afar. If not for graduation and my friend’s encouragement, I never would’ve drunk half a bottle of whiskey and confessed.

He was the light; I was just a speck of dust.

But now, sitting here in this sunlit kitchen, I wondered if maybe I’d been wrong about myself all along.

But…

Isn’t my dream guy about to divorce me? Do couples still kiss and hug after ten years of marriage and a looming divorce?

I glanced at the card again. None of this made sense.

That’s… surprisingly affectionate.

“Let’s go.”

His voice broke through my thoughts. He grabbed his keys, tossing them in the air like he’d done it a thousand times.

“Go where?”

I hugged the card to my chest, suddenly nervous again.

“You have a book signing today. Did you forget?” He tapped my nose playfully.

I wrinkled my nose, feeling like a kid caught skipping class. A book signing? Me?

Book signing?

Did I become a celebrity?

The idea was so wild I almost laughed. I pictured myself in sunglasses, signing books for screaming fans.

Once in the car, I realized I wasn’t a celebrity, but a popular romance novelist.

The dashboard was cluttered with coffee cups and old receipts. Carter drove with one hand on the wheel, humming along to the radio. I stared out the window, trying to process everything.

My first book was inspired by Carter: "You Are My Light." Because I poured so much of my real feelings into it, readers connected deeply and it became an overnight success. Later, it was adapted into a TV drama, and my writing career took off.

The memory hit me in a flash—a photo of my book cover, a line of fans waiting for autographs, my name on a Barnes & Noble marquee. I swallowed hard.

So… I’m rich now?

I checked my phone—newer, sleeker, filled with notifications and emails from people I didn’t recognize. My Instagram had blue checkmarks and thousands of followers.

No way. In high school, I struggled to write 800 words. How did I suddenly become a literary prodigy?

I glanced at Carter driving. Was it because of him?

He caught me looking and smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. My heart did a somersault.

I’d had a crush on him for ages, but he was always the unattainable star, while I was just a shrimp on the sidelines, admiring him from afar.

I remembered watching him run laps at track practice, my friends teasing me for blushing whenever he looked my way.

But now, he’s my husband.

Just as I was savoring my good fortune, I remembered—he wanted a divorce.

The thought hit me like a bucket of cold water. I looked down at my hands, suddenly nervous.

“Carter…” I called him tentatively.

My voice was barely above a whisper. He glanced over, raising an eyebrow.

As the traffic light turned red, he glanced at me, frowning. “Honey, you usually call me ‘babe.’”

I felt my face go red. "Babe"? I’d never called anyone that in my life.

Me: "..."

I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

He just grinned, clearly amused by my discomfort. The radio played some old Taylor Swift song, and for a moment, everything felt weirdly normal.

“Are you nervous?” He leaned over, stroked my hair. “You’ve handled bigger crowds than this—don’t be afraid.”

His hand was gentle, his words soothing. I felt my shoulders relax, just a little.

“Oh.” His scent was intoxicating, his voice gentle, his face dazzling. I was dizzy and utterly defenseless.

I stared out the window, trying to calm my racing heart. The city flew by, all glass and sunlight.