I’ve been with him for over a year now, a whirlwind romance that felt like destiny. He was everything I ever wanted – kind, funny, ambitious. We talked about a future, about forever. This week was supposed to be the start of it all. We’d planned a trip to his home state so I could finally meet his parents, the family he spoke so lovingly about. But it wasn’t just about meeting them. He’d confessed, late one night, eyes shining, that he planned to propose while we were there. This trip wasn’t just big; it was monumental. My heart was a frantic drum solo of nervousness and sheer, unadulterated excitement. We were on the plane, the drone of the engines a comforting lullaby as I pictured their faces, imagined the moment he’d get down on one knee. We were literally halfway there, somewhere over the vast expanse of the country, when he turned to me. His expression was serious, almost strained. My stomach did a little flip. What could it be?
“Hey,” he said, his voice lower than usual. “Look, when we get there… when we meet my parents…” He hesitated, glancing around, then back at me. “I need you to tell them you’re just a college friend. Visiting for the weekend.”
My breath hitched. What? My mind went blank. The roar of the plane suddenly seemed too loud, too close. I must have misheard him. This was some kind of joke, right? My face must have betrayed my utter confusion, because he quickly started explaining, his words tumbling out.
“Baby, it’s a surprise,” he rushed, gripping my hand. “My parents are… traditional. I want to really shock them. Imagine their faces! First, you’re just a friend, then BAM! I announce you’re my fiancée. It’ll be epic. A grand reveal! Just for the first day, okay? Then we tell them everything. Please?”
My gut screamed, every instinct protesting. This felt wrong. So incredibly, profoundly wrong. But his eyes were earnest, pleading. He squeezed my hand again, and that familiar wave of love and trust washed over me. He knew how much this trip meant to me. He wouldn’t risk it, not for a stupid prank. He loves me. This must just be his weird way of being romantic. I swallowed my doubts, plastered on a shaky smile. “Okay,” I whispered, the word tasting like ash. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”
The fake introductions were agonizing. His parents were wonderful, so warm and welcoming, just as he’d described. They hugged me, offered me tea, and chatted about their son’s “friend” from college. Every lie that passed my lips felt like a tiny cut. My boyfriend, meanwhile, was a picture of easy charm, playing the part of the gracious host, glancing at me with a knowing smile that was supposed to be reassuring but felt cruelly deceptive. How could he ask me to do this? I kept telling myself it was temporary. Just a day. Tomorrow, everything would be real. Tomorrow, he’d propose.
Dinner was a blur of polite conversation and forced smiles. Afterwards, feeling overwhelmed, I excused myself to the bathroom. His parents’ house was beautiful, filled with family photos. As I walked down the hall, I noticed a small table in an alcove, tucked away. On it was a framed photograph. My footsteps faltered. My heart hammered.
It was him.
But he wasn’t alone. He was smiling, his arm around a beautiful woman. Her arm was around his waist. They were standing in a sunlit garden, surrounded by flowers. And on his left hand, clear as day, was a wedding band. The woman’s left hand, resting on his chest, also bore a sparkling ring. Next to that photo was another, smaller one. It was a baby, swaddled in a blue blanket, eyes wide, tiny fist gripping a man’s finger. HIS FINGER.
The room spun. The air left my lungs. My knees buckled slightly, and I braced myself against the wall. No. This isn’t real. It can’t be. My vision blurred, tears springing to my eyes, hot and stinging. I focused again on the photos. The same house. The same furniture visible in the background. THIS WAS HIS HOME. This wasn’t a prank. This wasn’t a surprise.
Suddenly, a voice, his mother’s, floated from the living room. “Oh, honey, don’t forget to call her tonight. She was asking if you’d picked up your wife from the airport yet. You know how she worries.”
The world went silent. The plane engines, the cheerful chatter, the pounding in my ears. All gone. Replaced by a deafening, echoing VACUUM.
HE’S MARRIED.
HE HAS A CHILD.
HE WAS NEVER GOING TO PROPOSE TO ME.
Every loving word, every shared dream, every desperate lie I told his parents today… it all flashed before my eyes, twisting into a grotesque mockery. The proposal was a lie. This trip was a lie. OUR ENTIRE RELATIONSHIP WAS A LIE.
My lungs burned. I pressed my hand against my mouth to stifle a cry, the sheer force of betrayal an unbearable weight crushing my chest. This wasn’t my future. This wasn’t a proposal. This was a nightmare. And I was trapped inside it.
