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In the five years I’d been with Stellan Romano, he always managed to write Monica’s name in any place mine was supposed to go. On our fifth anniversary, he said he’d entered the wrong passport number when he booked our flights. So the trip to Iceland I’d spent two weeks planning became a northern-lights getaway for him and Monica. The housing subsidy his company offered married employees—he put down the wrong name for that, too. Even the custom wedding ring he’d ordered for me came in the wrong size and ended up on Monica’s finger. Our friends all told me the same thing: no one makes the same mistake every single time. Stellan just didn’t care enough about me. I always made excuses for him. I told them he was just busy. Monica was his assistant, so of course he might write her name out of habit. It wasn’t until the day we were supposed to register our marriage at City Hall—when I waited until the clerk’s window slid shut and Stellan still hadn’t shown—that I finally stopped. When I called him, he sounded exhausted. “Monica’s visa is about to expire. I’m marrying her first. Once her green card application is filed, we’ll get divorced.” A moment later, Monica posted a photo on Instagram. In the picture were two stamped copies of a marriage certificate. Stellan had an arm around her, a relaxed smile on his face. The caption read: “After five years, I finally married the person I always wanted to marry.” That was the moment I understood. He had never gotten it wrong. I was the one who was in the wrong place all along. ... I was saving the Instagram screenshot when the smart lock on the front door beeped. Monica pushed the door open, carrying two gift bags, and greeted me with her usual after-work cheer. “Katerina, you’re still up?” She said it so naturally, as if she’d just come home from the office—not from marrying my boyfriend. Stellan came in behind her, taking the coat she shrugged off and hanging it by the door. When he saw the cake on the table, he paused. The frosting had begun to soften. *Happy 5th Anniversary* was written across the top. Beside it lay my passport, the documents for our marriage registration, and the white shirt I’d bought especially for the photos. His gaze swept over them, and his tone softened slightly. “Why didn’t you put the cake in the fridge?” I didn’t answer. My eyes were fixed on the bags in Monica’s hand. She smiled. “A little gift from City Hall. A pair of mugs and two boxes of chocolates.” She held one out. “Katerina, want some?” I shook my head. “No. You two keep them.” The smile on Monica’s face faltered. Stellan frowned, setting the gift bags on the cabinet by the door. “Katerina Hayes, I already explained this on the phone. This is just paperwork.” He kept his voice low, reasonable. “Monica’s company is laying people off. Her H-1B is about to expire. If her green card application doesn’t go through, she’ll have a hard time staying in the country.” I looked up at him. “So you married her?” “It’s temporary.” He walked over and brushed his fingers against my shoulder, a gesture he’d always used to soothe me. “Three months. Once she files the application, I’ll divorce her immediately.” I shrugged his hand off. “Then do it tomorrow.” Stellan was silent for a long moment. “Kat, don’t push me.” I stared at him. “I’m pushing you?” I pointed at the documents on the table. “You were supposed to marry me today. You were the one who didn’t show. You were the one who married someone else. And now that I’m telling you to fix it, I’m the one pushing you?” Impatience flickered in his eyes, but he kept his voice down. “Monica’s status is unstable right now. There are a lot of things she can’t do. You’re different. You can wait.” That line again. He always used that line to make me back down. He’d said I had my own apartment, so it didn’t matter if the housing subsidy went to Monica. He’d said I was always healthy, so Iceland could wait. He’d said I understood him better than anyone, so the ring, the tickets, the places my name was supposed to be—they could all wait, too. Monica spoke softly. “Katerina, if you really can’t accept this, I can move out.” She said she would move, but her feet didn’t budge. Predictably, Stellan’s eyes went to her first. “You’re legally my wife now. USCIS could conduct a site visit at any time. If you move out, it’ll look suspicious.” Hearing the word *wife*, I dug my nails into my palm. Monica lowered her head. “But Katerina has always slept in the master bedroom. I can take the guest room.” “No.” Stellan’s answer was too quick. “They look at our living arrangements. If we’re going to do this, we can’t leave any loose ends.” Then he turned to me, his tone that of someone negotiating a minor inconvenience. “Kat, stay in the guest room for a few days.” I looked at him, my voice flat. “That’s my room.” His brow tightened. “Katerina, Monica and I just got married. If we’re sleeping in separate rooms, what is an immigration officer supposed to think?” Monica said softly, “Stellan, just forget it. Katerina’s had enough for one day. Don’t push her anymore.” The more she played the peacemaker, the more firmly he sided with her. He walked straight into the master bedroom and returned a moment later carrying my pillow and pajamas. “It’s just for three months,” he said. “Be mature about this.” Monica stood in the doorway, watching me. “Katerina, I’m sorry. I’m sorry to put you out like this.” I took the pajamas from him and suddenly laughed. “No trouble at all.” I met his gaze. “I slept next to you for five years and never saw who you really were. Maybe changing rooms will finally wake me up.” Stellan’s face darkened. I didn’t look at him again. I turned and walked into the guest room. First, I gathered my valuables. Then I photographed and backed up the deed to the apartment, the payment records, and all the mortgage statements. Just before the door clicked shut, I heard Monica ask him, “Stellan, how do you add spouse access to the smart lock?” Stellan took out his phone. A system chime sounded from the front door. “Household member fingerprint successfully added.” Then my own phone lit up with a notification. My administrator access had been revoked.Early the next morning, Stellan knocked on the guest room door. By the time I opened it, he was already dressed for the day. “It’s Nonna’s eightieth birthday tonight. Come with us.” I didn’t move. “What am I supposed to be there as?” Stellan paused. “The same as always.” He lowered his voice. “My family doesn’t know about the marriage yet. Don’t say anything tonight.” “If your family can’t know, then it’s probably best if I don’t go.” Stellan didn’t move from the doorway, blocking my path. “Nonna’s been asking about you. If you don’t come, she’ll worry.” “What about Monica?” “She’s my assistant. Nonna’s known her for years. Of course she’s going.” I had meant to refuse. But as the word formed on my lips, I thought of how kind Nonna had always been to me. The time I was hospitalized, she’d stayed with me all night. After my parents died, she’d insisted I join the Romano family for every Thanksgiving and Christmas. No matter what happened between Stellan and me, her kindness had been real. I would go, just this once, to honor that. “Fine. I’ll go.” When we arrived at the Romano estate, Nonna smiled and beckoned me to sit beside Stellan. Before I could take a step, Monica slipped into that very seat. As if only just noticing me, she immediately stood up. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought no one was sitting here.” But Stellan pressed a hand to her shoulder. “You stay there. There’s an open seat on Nonna’s right. Kat can sit there.” The table went quiet for a beat. Then someone laughed, breaking the silence. “Stellan and Monica are together all day at work. No wonder they’re so in sync.” Monica blushed and instinctively touched her ring finger. The wedding band caught the light. Nonna took her hand, studying the ring for a long moment before turning to Stellan. “You got married?” Stellan didn’t deny it. The whole table erupted at once. “When did this happen?” “How did we not hear anything?” “Wasn’t Stellan with Kat for five years?” Monica’s eyes welled up as she explained in a small voice, “Please, don’t misunderstand. It’s just for the green card. Stellan is just helping me out.” One of the aunts frowned. “The registration papers are real. Legally, you’re husband and wife. What do you mean, ‘helping out’?” Then she looked at me. “What about Katerina?” Every eye at the table turned in my direction. Stellan set down his glass, his voice turning cold. “Kat knows about it. She agreed.” I lifted my head. “When did I agree?” He shot me a look, a clear warning in his eyes. “Didn’t we go over this last night?” “You told me you’d divorce her in three months. You never asked if I was okay with you marrying her in the first place.” The air went still. Monica’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “Katerina, this is all my fault. Don’t blame Stellan. I can go ask right now if it can be annulled.” Stellan put a protective hand on her arm. “This has nothing to do with you.” Then he turned to me, his voice low and sharp. “It’s Nonna’s birthday. Do you have to make a scene?” Just then, Nonna went pale, pressing a hand to her chest and coughing several times. Stellan immediately rushed to her side. Monica was already on her feet, pouring a glass of water with an ease that suggested she already belonged. After the older woman recovered, she opened her jewelry box and took out the sapphire ring she had always said she would pass down to the family’s daughter-in-law. I had always thought, just as she’d promised, that she would give it to me. But she looked at me, then at Monica, and finally slipped it onto Monica’s finger. “Since you’re married, you’re family now.” She patted their joined hands. “Take good care of each other from now on.” Tears welled in Monica’s eyes. “Nonna, I will.” Someone called for everyone to gather for a family photo. Monica was ushered to Stellan’s side. Nonna stood between them, holding both their hands, a look of complete satisfaction on her face. I stood on the edge of the crowd, and this time, no one called my name. I lowered my head and sent a text to my realtor. “List the apartment. As fast as possible.”On the third day, the bridal shop called me. “Ms. Hayes, Mr. Romano and Ms. Monica just picked up your wedding dress. They said there’s an important dinner tonight and they wanted to borrow it. Have you set your wedding date yet?” My grip tightened on the phone. That Vera Wang gown had taken seven rounds of alterations to perfect. At the waist, our initials were embroidered in silver thread. Inside the hem, the date Stellan and I first met had been stitched by hand. By the time I reached the hotel ballroom, Monica was standing in front of a full-length mirror, adjusting her veil. The dress hugged her body as if it had been made for her. Monica saw me in the reflection and her lips curved into a smile. “Katerina. You came.” I walked toward her. “Take it off.” She touched the delicate embroidery at her waist. “Stellan said I was only borrowing it for one night.” “That’s my wedding dress.” “But when it was altered, Stellan gave them my measurements.” She turned to face me, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Katerina, do you really think he made a mistake every single time?” My fingers trembled. Monica took a step closer. “You have to verify a passport number when you book flights. You have to verify a Social Security number for company benefits. You confirm a ring size before ordering a custom band. And a wedding dress… a wedding dress gets measured over and over.” She let the words hang in the air. “With that many steps, there’s no way he could have gotten it wrong every single time.” “He just never had the nerve to tell you that I was the one he wanted all along.” I grabbed her veil. “Take. It. Off.” Monica didn’t flinch. Instead, she let my pull drag her forward. The pearl buttons at the waist of the dress popped, scattering across the floor like tiny, broken teeth. Her arm slammed into the edge of the makeup table, the skin turning an angry red almost immediately. The door flew open, and that was the exact moment Stellan saw. He crossed the room in three long strides and clamped a hand around my wrist. “Katerina, have you lost your mind?” His grip was bone-deep. But I only had eyes for him. “Did you give them the wrong measurements on purpose?” Stellan avoided my gaze, looking down at Monica’s arm instead. “It’s just a dress. She didn’t have anything suitable for tonight, so what’s the big deal if she borrows it once?” “Our names are embroidered on the waist.” “Then cut them out.” He said it so casually. As if all he was cutting away were a few threads, and not the wedding I had spent years planning. Monica tugged on his sleeve. “Stellan, forget it. I shouldn’t have worn it.” He turned to her, his expression instantly softening as he straightened her veil. “Don’t move. We’re about to go in.” I stared at him. “Go in where?” With a look of feigned reluctance, Monica handed me an invitation. The cardstock was the champagne color I had chosen myself. But inside, the bride’s name had been changed to Monica. Stellan’s tone was flat, matter-of-fact. “After Nonna found out we were married, she insisted on holding a small ceremony.” “Just for family.” I looked at him, incredulous. “The venue, the invitations, the dress—I planned all of this.” “It would have been a waste to cancel everything. We’re just using it for now.” The doors to the banquet hall swung open. A wave of applause washed over us. The emcee’s cheerful voice boomed from inside. “Please welcome the groom, Mr. Stellan Romano, and his beautiful bride!” Stellan took Monica’s hand. After two steps, he glanced back at me. “I’ll explain about the dress when we get home.” Then he stepped over the scattered pearls on the floor and led Monica—wearing my wedding dress—into what should have been my wedding.

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