Tonight, for the first time in a while, Leah actually came home.

She ate the dinner I made, just like always.

She kept her eyes glued to her phone, never making conversation.

She just mumbled that my cooking was as good as ever.

And just like always, her compliment felt completely hollow.

We lay in bed, and even though it wasn't a big bed, the distance between us felt like miles.

We were back-to-back, silent.

If I didn’t speak, she would never, ever start a conversation.

A wave of sadness washed over me as I thought back to the day she asked me to marry her.

I cried for a long time back then.

She thought they were tears of joy.

But I was crying for myself.

I gave her family a ton of money because I wanted her to see that I was the best choice she had.

I knew she had always loved Leo.

They’d known each other since they were kids, more than a decade of history I couldn’t compete with.

They had shared their best years together, a world I could never be a part of.

But Leo was ambitious.

He married a rich girl right after college.

And Leah?

She begged him not to, practically on her knees, but Leo was determined to secure his financial future.

In a rage, Leah cut off all contact with him.

Right around that time, her mother got very sick.

Her dying wish was to see Leah married and settled.

And there I was, head over heels in love with her, the only option left.

Her family was struggling, and the money I gave them for her mother’s medical bills was a lifeline.

It felt like a cold, hard transaction. Money for a wife.

But I told myself it wasn't like that.

She thought my tears at her proposal were from happiness.

But I knew she could never let go of Leo.

And I could never let go of her.

When Leo came back to town, Leah threw a party for him with all their old friends.

I forced myself to go.

I thought a divorce might have changed Leo, made him look worn down.

I was wrong.

He looked better than ever.

Standing next to him, I felt small and ashamed.

What surprised me, though, was that from the moment we walked in, Leah was incredibly sweet to me.

She barely even glanced at Leo.

She even started peeling a lobster for me, something she’d never, ever do at home.

But I knew it was all a performance.

Because I’m allergic to lobster.

Leo, on the other hand, loves it.

I suddenly felt ridiculous.

This whole love triangle was just a stage for their long-awaited reunion.

And I was the fool playing a tragic one-man show.

It was laughable, really.

One of the guys, a real loudmouth, decided to stir the pot.

“So, Leo, what happened, man? Did you suddenly go soft in bed? Should’ve called me, buddy, I would’ve helped you out!”

The table erupted in laughter.