I was thirty-six, and I loved my life as it was. I wasn’t looking for a prince. I was looking for stability, peace, and love.
And for a while, I thought I’d found it in Anthony. We’d been together for three years. Three. That’s practically an eternity in the world of commitment-free relationships.
He was attentive when he wanted to be. Funny. Charismatic. And maddeningly unpredictable.
But love isn’t supposed to be perfect, right?
Still, time passed, and I remained something… convenient. That started to bother me. Not at first. At first, I made excuses for him.
“He’s busy.”
“He’s just not ready.”
“He needs time.”
But when you’re still planning your Friday nights, only if he happens to remember you exist…That’s not love. So, I decided to talk. Just talk. Like adults. No pressure.
We were sitting at the café near my office. He showed up twenty minutes late. That was actually better than usual.
“Hey,” I smiled, a bit stiffly. “Traffic again?”
“Nah, just… got caught up at the gym. So, what’s this urgent thing you wanted to talk about?”
I took a sip of tea.
“I didn’t say it was urgent. I just wanted to talk.”
“Okay. I’m listening.”
“Anthony… We’ve been together for three years now. And I… well… I don’t know where we’re going.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Going?”
“I mean… our relationship. We’re kind of… stuck. You come over, we hang out, you leave. And that’s it. I want more. Maybe… living together? Building something. Planning.”
Anthony stayed quiet. Sipped his coffee like he was buying time.
“So you’re saying I should marry you?”
I nearly choked. “What? No! I mean… not right now. But have you ever even thought about it? About ‘us’? About the future?”
He grimaced. “Here we go…”
“‘Here we go’?”
I snapped.
“Anthony, I’m thirty-six. I want a family. I dream of making breakfast together on Sundays, not waiting for your ‘Busy, text later’ messages.”
“So what’s the problem? We can just keep going like this. Everything’s fine, right?”
“It’s not fine!”
I slammed my hand on the table.
“We’ve been together for three years! That’s the point where people either move forward or admit they’re not going anywhere.”
Silence again. Then Anthony shrugged.
“Fine. Let’s do something different. This weekend, the theater. I’ll get tickets. You want a step forward — you’ll get one.”
I stared at him.
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. Wear something fancy. Surprise me.”
And then he smiled. And something fluttered in me again. Was it fear? Or hope? I couldn’t tell. But my heart started beating faster.
It was Saturday. I woke up with that strange feeling in my stomach — the kind that only shows up when something big is about to happen.
When you’ve already imagined all the possibilities, and every single one of them is beautiful. I drifted into sweet thoughts while frothing milk for my coffee.
“He’s changed. He heard me. He’s planning something special.”
The theater. It sounded like a step forward. Finally, something more than sushi after nine and a half-watched movie on his couch. I called my bestie, Cindy, first.
“Guess what?!”
“He’s moving in with you?”
“No, but… he invited me to the theater. The theater, Cindy!”
She let out a dry little chuckle.
“Girl, theater is just theater. It’s not a step.”
“You’re joking, and I’m nervous. What if he proposes? Or something else? I feel it, Cindy. I really do.”
Cindy laughed nervously into the phone.
“Alright. Then you need a hairstyle. A dress. A new lipstick. And probably a therapist on standby.”
An hour later, we were already sitting in the salon. The hairdresser looked at me with a quiet, curious stare.
“Nothing too dramatic, okay? But… make it so he regrets every year he didn’t ask me to move in.”
“Say it straight — you want him on one knee?”
I blushed. “No… I mean… not necessarily. But if he does — I won’t say no.”
Then came the dress. I spun in front of the mirror while Cindy sipped her fourth latte.
“This grey one? Too much?”
“It’s perfect. It says, ‘I never asked for anything, but I deserve everything.’”
“But it’s just a night at the theater…”
“And he’s on probation,” Cindy said, zipping me up in the back.
I looked at myself. Bold lips. Bright eyes. A hairstyle that screamed senior prom.
“What if I made all this up? What if he’s just… playing?” I whispered.
“And what if this is your moment?”
I nodded. The butterflies in my stomach had formed a whole swarm.
Everything inside me fluttered — from fear, from hope, from knowing that tonight, something in my life would change. I just didn’t know how much yet.
I arrived ten minutes early. That’s what people do when they’re nervous. When they believe that one night could change everything.
I stood outside the theater, catching my reflection in the glass: lipstick intact, hair still in place.
I looked like a woman who knew what she wanted.
And then Anthony appeared. In a suit. No smile. None of his usual jokes about my heels or his fear of live performances. He was… different. His lips barely moved when he spoke the compliment.
“You look incredible.”
I smiled. “Thanks. You too. This is… unexpected. Theater, suit… What’s next, candlelight dinner?”
“Come. I want you to meet someone.”
Meet someone?
Before I could ask, a woman approached us. She was flawless.
That kind of elegance, you’re born with it. High cheekbones, the scent of expensive perfume, a gown with delicate stones tracing her sleeves.
Anthony nodded toward her as she took his hand.
“Lora, this is Elizabeth. My wife.”
My…
What?
Wife? WIFE?!
Blood pounded in my temples. I tried to speak, but my lips refused to move.
“And sweetheart, this is Lora. We just ran into each other here. Remember I told you about that woman from the gallery? This is her.”
I stood there. In my red dress. With my perfect hair. With the hope in my heart.
“Oh, how adorable!” Elizabeth laughed.
Her voice tinkled like glass. Anthony was calm. Too calm for what was happening.
“Turns out, we’re even seated next to each other! What a funny coincidence!”
Next to each other.
We were seated next to each other.
Me — the woman waiting for a proposal.
Her — the woman who already got one.
Anthony introduced me as a casual acquaintance.
A gallery contact. Just someone he ran into.
What… kind of man does this?
What kind of twisted, cruel plan is this?
But I smiled. Mechanically. I smiled because I didn’t know what else to do. My voice betrayed me. It sounded like someone else’s.
“Nice to meet you.”
We entered the hall. I sat next to Anthony. Next to the man who had lied to me for three years. The curtain rose. And I sat back straight, eyes forward. Only my hands trembled in my lap.
“Don’t cry. Not now. Not here.”
I didn’t see the play.
I didn’t hear the lines.
I stared at the stage, but the only thought echoing in my head was:
“How could I have been so wrong?”
Anthony was fine. Whispering to HIS WIFE! He didn’t even glance at me.
Three years. Three years!
And I was just a convenient shadow — easy to push aside.
When the performance finally ended, I didn’t wait for the curtain call. I stood up, nodded at Elizabeth, and whispered:
“You two make a beautiful couple.”
Then I walked out of the theater. Out of my illusion. Out of the script, where I thought I had the leading role.
And I walked out with a plan. A plan for revenge — one Anthony would never forget.
A week of silence. Of untouched tea gone cold. A week where I didn’t live — just existed. That night at the theater had become the final frame of my faith.
“You can’t keep hiding like this,” Cindy said, showing up with a bag of croissants.
“I lived in a fantasy. And I lost.”
“You’ve mourned long enough. Want to know who the man you cried over really is?”
She sat across from me and placed her tablet on the table. There it was — Elizabeth’s website. Salons, studios, and interviews. She was everywhere. And in the background — Anthony.
“She funds him. Everything’s in her name. Without her, he’s nobody. And you…” Cindy looked straight into my eyes, “You were his fresh air. No pressure. He came to escape the weight of his mediocrity.”
I wanted to scream. But what was the point? I just stayed silent until Cindy leaned in and whispered:
“Let’s show the truth. You wanted revenge, remember?”
“I did. But after that night at the theater… I came home and couldn’t find the strength.”
“Perfect. That means you’re rested now. And we’re going to give your Anthony a show he’ll never forget.”
Two weeks later, the city gallery was opening a new exhibition. Cindy had originally planned to show a landscape series, but… She kindly agreed to change course. She changed everything.
“I named it ‘Behind the Mask of Betrayal,’” she chirped on the opening night, adjusting my hair. “You look stunning.”
“You did send the invitation, right?”
“A personalized one. Trust me, a woman like Elizabeth never misses events like this.”
“I just hope everything goes…”
“Perfectly? Of course. And trust me — your Anthony will be clinging to her like a leash.”
An hour later, we were greeting guests.
Bright room. White walls. Dozens of photos. A love story captured by a camera — and two people who thought no one else saw. Captions under the photos:
“August. He said he’d never been happier.”
“February. Weekends at the lake house.”
“September. Best movie night.”
At the center of the room was a large screen playing a video loop: I’m laughing. Anthony is holding me. Sunlight filters through the trees. He spins me in his arms.
On the wall, a projector cast the title in sharp letters:
“Based on a true story of betrayal.”
Guests moved silently through the room. Some wiped tears. Others whispered, “This is so honest.”
And then… They arrived. Elizabeth — in a white and emerald dress. Anthony — beside her, in the same suit he wore to the theater. I stood near the video installation.
Elizabeth stepped closer. She read the captions. Her eyes narrowed. Then she turned to me.
“Is this true? Is this… about you two?”
I met her gaze.
“Your husband loves theater. And lies. I just thought… You deserved to know the whole script.”
Anthony stayed silent. Pale. Elizabeth turned to him:
“How could you? I gave you everything!”
“I… It was complicated. I didn’t mean to…”
I took a step back and said, “You dared to lie to two women at once. I dared to turn your lie into art. Now everyone sees you for who you are.”
Elizabeth let out a bitter laugh.
“He’s nothing without me. And without you? Even less than that.”
Then, she nodded to me and left. Anthony remained. Alone. People moved around him like he didn’t exist. The exhibit continued.
And me? I stayed in the center of the room.
Not with revenge, but with truth.
For the first time, the lead role in my own story.
