It was beautiful.

Every single moment spent together felt like something out of a dream. His warm words? They melted into your heart like honey. His touch? It was the bandage that covered every scar, every wound, every ache.

Every second you shared was precious—especially when he had to leave again, when his job built a wall between you.

But he always came back.

Through all these months, your relationship with Ghost had flourished, growing stronger despite the storms outside your window.

Hell, sometimes you even allowed yourself to dream—what would your wedding look like? What would it feel like to call him yours forever? You were in love. Completely, hopelessly. No matter how many times he left, you waited. Nothing could break this, right?

Right…?

Then came that morning.

Ghost had stayed the night, his presence still lingering in the warmth of your sheets, in the scent of him on your skin. You had just poured yourself a cup of coffee when the knock came.

You didn’t think twice about it. Probably the mailman.

Little did you know how wrong you were.

Opening the door, you came face to face with a woman. A stranger. Holding a child—barely a year old—balanced on her hip. She looked furious.

"Hi," she said, her voice dripping with something sharp, her smile anything but kind.

You barely had time to process before she spoke again. And this time, the words slammed into you like a bullet to the chest.

"I just found out you’re my husband’s mistress. Is he here?"

Mistress. Husband. Wife. Child.

The world tilted, your stomach twisted, and suddenly—everything you believed in, everything you had—was a lie.

You weren’t his love. You weren’t his choice. You were just… the other woman.