I thought I had met the perfect man. Until the day he disappeared without a word. When I went to check on him, I found out he was at his own wedding. But that was only the beginning of the lies.
Jake was the kind of man you read about in novels but never actually expect to meet in real life. He was a successful businessman, effortlessly charming, and had this rare ability to make everyone around him feel special. And for the past month, he had made me feel like the only woman in the world.
Our dates had always been magical, like something out of a romantic movie. Jake had a knack for choosing places that felt straight out of a dream—intimate rooftop dinners, quiet strolls by the river, surprise picnics in hidden gardens. He always knew just what to say, just how to make me laugh, just how to make my heart race.
That evening was no exception.
We sat in a cozy corner of an elegant rooftop restaurant. Candlelight flickered between us, the city skyline twinkled in the background, and soft jazz played in the distance. Everything seemed perfect. But something was off.
Jake wasn’t himself.
As the evening went on, I noticed the subtle tension in his face—the way his jaw tightened when he thought I wasn’t looking, the faraway look in his eyes when the conversation paused. It was as if he was physically present, but his mind was somewhere else.
“Long day?” I asked gently, hoping he would open up.
He nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on the flickering candle between us. “You could say that.”
Normally, our conversations flowed effortlessly. But tonight, it felt… forced.
“You seem different tonight,” I said softly, setting my fork down.
“Do I?” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry, I guess I’m just tired.”
Tired. That didn’t explain why he barely touched his food or why his usual quick wit seemed to have vanished. By the time dessert arrived—a rich slice of chocolate cake we had planned to share—I was feeling uneasy.
Then, out of nowhere, he let out a heavy sigh.
“I think I might have caught something,” he said quietly, still not meeting my eyes. “Let’s cancel our weekend trip to the lake house.”
“What?! Jake, we’ve been planning this trip for weeks! Are you sure you’re okay?”
He nodded, offering a faint smile. “I just need a few days to rest.”
But he didn’t look sick. He looked troubled. I searched his face for any clue, but he was impossible to read.
“If there’s anything I can do, you’ll tell me, right?” I asked, reaching across the table to touch his hand.
“Of course,” he said, giving my fingers a quick squeeze before pulling away.
Later, when he dropped me off at my apartment, I lingered in the doorway, waiting for him to say something—anything—that would ease the uneasy feeling in my chest. But all he did was kiss my cheek, wish me goodnight, and drive away.
That night, as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Jake—the perfect man who had swept me off my feet—was keeping a secret.
The next morning, silence stretched between us. No good morning text, no call, nothing. By lunchtime, I sat staring at my phone, willing it to buzz, but it sat stubbornly still on the counter.
Something was wrong.
Finally, I grabbed a basket of fresh fruit and decided to check on him. If he wasn’t feeling well, he needed something to eat, right? That’s what I told myself as I slipped on my sneakers and headed out. The truth was, I just needed to see him, to know what was really going on.
When I arrived at Jake’s house, his driveway was empty. I rang the doorbell and waited. No answer.
“Jake?” I called, knocking again. “Jake, it’s me, Emily!”
Still nothing. I peered through the front windows. The house was dark and lifeless.
“Looking for someone?”
I turned to see an older woman standing by the picket fence, her graying hair tied into a neat bun.
“Yes,” I said, trying to keep the worry out of my voice. “I was just checking on Jake. He said he wasn’t feeling well.”
“Oh, he’s not home. He’s at a wedding.”
“A wedding?” I blinked, sure I had misheard.
“Yes, his own!” she said, clearly delighted by my stunned reaction. “Guess whatever he caught must’ve been ‘commitment fever.’ Dangerous stuff, I hear.”
“His… own wedding?”
“Don’t worry, sweetie, weddings cure just about everything. Well, except cold feet.” She chuckled, amused by her own joke.
I felt like the ground had been ripped out from under me.
“Where?” I demanded. “Where is the wedding?”
“Oh, it’s at Nora’s house—the red and white one with the garden on Maple Street. She’s Julia’s mother.”
Julia. The bride.
I drove to Maple Street, my mind a blur of confusion and heartbreak. When I arrived, the scene looked like something out of a fairy tale—or a nightmare.
Jake stood on the steps in a perfectly tailored suit, looking devastatingly handsome. Beside him, in a flowing white gown, was the bride.
I wanted to turn and run. But before I could, a woman with a commanding presence stepped forward, her gaze locking onto me like a spotlight.
“I know who you are,” she said icily. “My son Jake is married now. I suggest you leave him alone.”
It was Nora. The mother of the bride.
Jake saw me then. His eyes widened in shock, and he rushed toward me.
“Emily, I can explain—”
“You’re married?”
“It’s not what it looks like,” he pleaded. “Julia’s sick… Her mother begged me. The insurance will cover her surgery.”
I stared at him, tears burning my eyes. “Who does this if they’re not in love?”
I turned and ran, not waiting to hear his answer.
But something didn’t add up.
That night, I found myself outside Nora’s house again. As I crept closer, I heard Julia’s voice, sharp and angry.
“You staged all of this! Why? He doesn’t love me. You lied about me being sick to manipulate him into marrying me!”
I clamped a hand over my mouth. Then Nora’s voice followed, calm and cruel.
“I did it for you. You’d be a fool to let a man like Jake slip away. He’s too honorable to leave you now, no matter what.”
My hands shook as I recorded everything on my phone. Then, with my heart pounding, I called Jake.
“You need to see this,” I whispered.
Within minutes, he arrived, his face dark with realization. Without a word, he walked past me toward the house, his shoulders squared.
The next morning, a knock at my door made my heart skip a beat. Jake stood there, his face tired but determined.
“I filed for an annulment,” he said. “It’s over.”
I searched his face, waiting for more.
“I made a mistake,” he admitted. “But I want to fix it.”
I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I took a deep breath and smiled softly.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
He exhaled, relieved. “Do you think you could pack a bag?” he asked, a hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “Come with me to the lake? I’ll renew the booking.”
I laughed. “I never unpacked my suitcase.”
And just like that, we left. Because love isn’t about avoiding imperfections—it’s about facing them together.
