Legally Her Husband, Emotionally the Extra

On our third anniversary, the restaurant my wife, Selena Sander, and I frequent is reserved by her twisted first love, Shane Johnson.

He tramples over the rose petals that are scattered all over the floor while making his way toward our table. Then, he slaps a pregnancy report onto the table.

"Three years ago, I personally tattooed a rose on Selena's abdomen. I even made a vow with her, saying that she cannot give birth to your child until I find someone I love more than her."

As Shane points at the name shown on the pregnancy report, he flashes me a cruel smile.

"Now, I've found my true love. That's why I came to inform Selena that our vow can now be broken."

The bitterness that I tasted from the countless contraceptives that I've taken over the past three years suddenly floods my mouth. I then turn to look at Selena.

There's no trace of guilt shown on her expression despite having gotten exposed by Shane. Instead, she just looks at me coldly.

"You heard him, right?" she utters. "We can have a child together now."

At that moment, I feel like strangling her more than anything else in the world.

"What? Aren't you happy for me?"

Selena Sander's voice was coated in ice, and her words stabbed into my eardrums like icicles. She didn't even look at me as she spoke, her gaze still locked on the man called Shane Johnson.

It was as though he were her husband, whereas I was simply an insignificant bystander.

Shane scoffed as he looked down at me arrogantly. "Adrian Luther, you really should be thanking me. If it weren't for my generosity, you wouldn't have been able to even touch Selena in this lifetime.

"Oh, wait. That's not right. What I mean is, without my sudden graciousness, you can forget about ever having a child with her."

His words seemed to home in on the softest part of my heart and slice deep inside.

For the past three years, I would take a small white pill every morning, as Selena had said she was allergic to latex, yet she couldn't bear the thought of me going for a vasectomy.

Back then, she had said, "Darling, I know this is tough on you. However, you can stop after a few years, and we decide to have kids, okay?"

I had believed her.

I had loved her so much that I had been willing to do anything for her.

Even though I had to take that incredibly bitter pill every morning, even though my friends laughed at me, calling me stupid for taking the pill despite being a man, I still thought that my action was simply proof of my love for her.

But now, the man, Shane, was telling me that all my suffering had only been because of a promise. A promise between him and Selena, made when he tattooed that rose on her lower abdomen.

My stomach churned with nausea, and it was as though all the bitterness from the years of pills was surging up my throat all at once.

I searched Selena's face intently, hoping to see any signs of guilt. Even a little would do.

Yet, there was none.

There was absolutely no guilt on her face. All she did was furrow her brows slightly in seeming impatience.

"Shane, are you done talking? If you are, stop bothering us and leave. We're trying to enjoy our anniversary," she said so casually, her words flippant in the manner one would shoo a particularly annoying fly.

For a quick second, the smile on Shane's lips froze. However, it then turned into a playful and teasing smirk.

"Selena, you're as heartless as ever. Still, I like it."

Leaning down close to her ear, he added in a volume only the three of us could hear, "Don't forget that I tattooed that rose on you myself. Every line, every thorn adorning it—they all remember my scent."

I watched as Selena's ears rapidly flushed a bright red, and my heart thoroughly sank to the bottom of my feet. It felt as though it had been plunged into icy waters.

Shane straightened back up to admire our expressions, a smug and pleased look in his eyes.

It reminded me of the way a victorious general would inspect his spoils of war.

Finally, he shifted his gaze to me, and I could see that it was filled with disdain and pity.

"Adrian, one should never be too naive. Did you seriously think you married a pure, innocent white rose?

"No, you're nothing but a gardener to water and fertilize her. I'm the one who can pluck her whenever I want."

With that, he spun to leave, head tossed back in triumphant laughter as he stepped on the irritating rose petals he had brought with him.

Everyone in the restaurant was looking at us, their gazes prickling at my back like needles. In that instant, I felt like a clown stripped of all clothing for everyone to stare at.

Meanwhile, my wife, the woman I had loved for five whole years, never even spared me a comforting glance.

Instead, she gracefully picked up her cutlery and began cutting her steak into bite-sized pieces.