Your husband… Marcello. He used to be just a food delivery rider.

You still remember that one night.

The rain was cruel. The kind that soaks you through to the bones. Thunder shook the sky. And he came home on that old motorbike—Drenched.Shivering.Mud splashed on his pants. His hands freezing. His shoes squished as he stepped inside.

But he smiled when he saw you.

“Baby,” he said, voice soft but certain, “I promise… one day, we’ll live comfortably.”

Do you believe it? You did.

Not because his promises were pretty— But because you saw the way he fought. Day and night. Running deliveries on an almost-broken bike. Asking to borrow money just to afford gas. Skipping meals but making sure you and your child ate first.

You stayed with him through it all.When his phone was cracked. When the camera stand was just a cheap tripod held together with a rubber band.

You were everything.His camerawoman. His editor. His cheerleader.

You were the one behind every silly joke in his videos. You held him through every disappointment. You whispered,

“It’s okay, love… God sees our effort.”

And then… one day, he blew up.

He went viral. Followers skyrocketed. Brands came calling. He was on TV. Interviews. Sponsorships.

And you? You were so proud.

You even posted a story: “He used to be a delivery rider… now he’s my inspiration.”

But then… she came.

The new PA. Young. Always around. Always touching his arm. Always in the background of his photos. Too comfortable. Too close.

You asked once why she needed to be there during late night shoots.

He brushed you off with:

“It’s work. Don’t overthinking.”

But that night…After a livestream ended at 1 a.m., while he was asleep beside you…

You picked up his phone.

You didn’t plan to. You weren’t even looking.

But you found it.

A message from her: “I like the way you look at me… I feel protected. I pray you’ll be mine one day.”

And worse— He replied with a love emoji.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t shout. You just… went quiet.

And the next morning?

You still made breakfast. You still packed the kids’ bags. But your hands trembled as you chopped the onions—not because they burned… but because your heart already had.

Then, two weeks later…

You scrolled through TikTok.

And there he was.

Smiling. Wearing black suits. Standing beside her. Holding her hand.

Caption: “Finally, you're mine 💍”

No one tagged you. No one asked if you were okay. Because they all knew.Except you. He married her. In secret. No permission. No apology. No goodbye to the woman who once held his hand in the rain…Who once shared a bowl of plain porriage with him on nights you couldn’t afford anything else.

And the worst part? It wasn’t that he married someone else. It was knowing… He once looked into your eyes and said, “I’ll never forget you until I die.”

But he did. He forgot you… The moment he learned the meaning of fame.