Chapter 2The Placeholder Husband

Claire and I met on what was supposed to be a blind date. Sort of.

My actual date was running late. I was sitting at a small table in a crowded Chicago coffee shop when Claire walked up and sat down opposite me. We’d mistaken each other for our respective dates, but when I saw her, I felt a jolt. She was beautiful in a clean, understated way—a simple floral dress, a touch of makeup, nothing more.

After a few minutes of confused pleasantries, she looked me straight in the eye and asked a question that short-circuited my brain.

“What’s the absolute soonest you could get married?”

Somehow, the words, “Whenever you want,” fell out of my mouth. I didn’t even think to ask her why she was in such a hurry.

We met that morning and were at the courthouse by the afternoon. Before my brain had fully processed it, I was a married man. It wasn’t entirely crazy; my family had been pressuring me to settle down for years.

Our marriage was… polite. We were like courteous roommates. I told myself it was fine, that we just needed time. In an age of swipe-right dating, horror stories of couples who dated for years only to break up were everywhere. I figured we were just doing it in reverse.

But I waited. And waited. I waited until our daughter, Maya, was born. I waited for five years. Nothing changed.

One night, a junior colleague from work—one who had a very obvious crush on me—texted me after midnight, asking for a ride home from a bar. Claire was lying right beside me in bed. She didn’t so much as stir. I hesitated, then nudged her, asking if she minded.

Her answer was chillingly reasonable. “She’s a young woman out on her own. It can be tough. She wouldn’t ask you, a married man, unless she was really in a bind.”

She was giving me permission. More than that, she was encouraging me to go. She knew about this colleague’s inappropriate texts. She’d seen them. But she didn’t care enough to even want an explanation.

It was then that the cold truth finally settled in my bones. Claire didn’t love me. We could be married for a hundred years, and she would never love me.