Chapter 3: Ghost Messages

Natalie and I met through a dating app.

It was one of those nights—I was half-bored, half-curious, swiping between faces. Modern romance at its finest. I never expected to meet my future wife with a thumb flick.

Why do I say 'sort of'?

Well, my original date flaked on me, and I was left nursing a coffee, glancing at the door every two minutes. That’s when Natalie wandered in, scanning the room like she was expecting someone too.

The place smelled like burnt espresso and lemon muffins, indie music humming under the chatter. My original date was late, and Natalie came over by herself. We both met the wrong person, but Natalie’s appearance caught my eye immediately.

She was striking in a subtle way—a floral dress that made her seem out of place in the noisy café, makeup just enough to highlight her sharp cheekbones, and a posture that suggested she was used to doing things on her own. I felt a jolt of curiosity.

There was a freshness to her—unhurried, self-contained. She sat down across from me, crossing her ankles, and looked me straight in the eyes. No small talk, no nervous fidgeting. Just straight to the point.

She only asked me one question:

"What’s the earliest we can get married?"

I was caught off guard. It was so out of left field, I nearly choked on my coffee. For a second, I thought she was joking. But her expression was dead serious, her eyes unwavering.

I replied, as if under a spell:

"Whenever you want."

Looking back, I don’t even know why I said it. Maybe it was her confidence. Maybe I wanted to believe someone wanted me that much, even if she barely knew me.

I didn’t even ask why Natalie was in such a hurry to get married.

Some part of me was flattered, some part nervous. But I didn’t question it. It felt like being swept up by a current—easy to just let go and float along.

So we met in the morning, got our marriage license in the afternoon. My mind hadn’t even cleared before I became a married man.

One moment I was single, the next I was signing paperwork in a county office, the smell of old linoleum and disinfectant lingering in the air. My head spun, but I grinned for the obligatory selfie with our license. Our parents barely had time to react.

Actually, it was fine. My family was urging me anyway.

My mom had been hinting for months, dropping not-so-subtle reminders about how all her friends had grandkids already. When I called to say I was married, she nearly cried with relief. It felt like checking off a life box.

After marriage, we treated each other with courtesy. I thought since we hadn’t known each other long, feelings would grow over time.

I bought flowers every so often, tried to cook breakfast on Sundays. Natalie thanked me, but the politeness never cracked. We shared space, chores, bills, and that was it. I kept hoping for warmth to blossom in the routine.

Nowadays, with these fast-food relationships, there are so many who are together for years but end up apart.

A few of my friends had done the long-dating thing—moving in, splitting rent, breaking up before ever getting engaged. In this world, maybe jumping in wasn’t so crazy.

But I waited and waited. Waited until our daughter was born, waited five years after marriage, but Natalie was still the same.

Five years is enough time for most couples to settle in, for the awkwardness to fade. But with us, it was like we’d never gotten past the first date.

Even when my female coworker called me late at night asking me to pick her up, Natalie was sleeping right beside me. She didn’t even turn over. I nervously asked her opinion, and she replied indifferently:

"It’s not easy for a young woman to be out alone. If she didn’t have any other choice, she wouldn’t ask you, a married man."

Her words were gentle, but the distance was unmistakable. She didn’t ask who it was, didn’t even glance at me over her mug. It was as if nothing could ruffle her surface.

Natalie’s implication was for me to go.

She didn’t hesitate, didn’t question my intentions, didn’t even pause. It was as if she’d already decided she’d never have a reason to be jealous.

With such an understanding wife, I should have felt lucky. But that coworker obviously liked me and often sent me weird messages. Natalie knew this.

The messages bordered on flirtatious, inside jokes, and memes that went past professional. Anyone else might’ve raised an eyebrow, maybe even gotten annoyed. Natalie just scrolled past, unbothered.

But Natalie turned a blind eye, not even needing an explanation from me.

If I tried to bring it up, she’d wave me off, telling me not to overthink it. It made me feel invisible, like nothing I did mattered enough to shake her.

It was then that I realized Natalie didn’t love me. Even if we spent a lifetime together, she wouldn’t love me.

The realization hit me late one night, staring at the ceiling in the dark, listening to her even breaths. We were two strangers sharing a bed, nothing more. I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come.