I Turned Out to Be the Other Man

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I was scrolling through a trending post online, asking, Who is the person you regret most?

One reply, in particular, caught my eye, and I couldn't resist clicking on it.

The person said they regretted their best friend the most, but that it was all their friends wifes fault for perfectly matching their aesthetic.

They also mentioned that from the moment their friend introduced them to his wife, they fell in love with her at first sight.

At a graduation party, he intentionally got both his friend and his wife drunk, then had sex with his friends wife.

He even smugly stated that his friend, who was typically so discerning in his choices, was a fool. When his wife got pregnant with his child, she lied to his friend, saying she was going on a business trip abroad. In reality, she was secretly carrying the baby in a neighboring state.

Even more absurd, he didnt consider himself a homewrecker because his marriage certificate with the woman was the legitimate one; they just hadnt had the wedding yet.

He concluded by declaring that those who are brave for love shouldn't be ashamed, and he hoped people wouldn't give up just because the person they liked was already taken.

The reply was accompanied by a photo of a man and woman holding hands, fingers intertwined. And the thin scar on the woman's wrist immediately told me that the female lead in the story was my own wife, Sophia.

I stared fixedly at the intertwined hands in the photo on the screen.

The photo didn't show faces, only two hands clasped together. The man's hand was sharply jointed, the woman's slender and fair, her nails neatly trimmed.

And on the inner side of the woman's cool, pale wrist,

There was an extremely faint, fine raised scar, like a pale centipede lurking beneath the skin's texture.

Others might not notice this detail, but I couldn't mistake it.

Because that scar was a mark I had personally snatched from the jaws of death.

Sophia and I were childhood sweethearts.

From elementary to high school, we were always in the same class.

Back then, Sophia wasn't the decisive, professionally dressed executive she is today.

She was gloomy, reclusive, timid, like a mushroom growing in a dark corner,

Always keeping her head down, bangs obscuring her eyes, never speaking to anyone.

The girls in class ostracized and even bullied her, but I was the only one willing to include her.

I would retrieve her textbook when it was tossed into the trash.

I would share half of my sandwich with her when she was hungry.

In eighth grade, her parents were going through a messy divorce.

Her volatile mother took all her anger out on Sophia, often resorting to punching and kicking.

Sophia developed severe depression.

I still remember that stormy afternoon.

Worried about her, I climbed over the fence into her yard.

Through the window of the first-floor bathroom, I saw a scene that chilled me to the bone.

Sophia lay in the bathtub, the water stained a shocking crimson.

On her wrist, there was a gash, deep enough to expose bone, made with a utility knife.

It was me who smashed the glass, rushed in desperately,

Used a towel to tightly bind her wrist, and calmly called 911.

By her hospital bedside,

She was as pale as paper, her eyes vacant as she looked at me,

Asking, "Dan, do you not want me anymore either?"

I reached out and pressed her shoulder, swearing with unwavering certainty:

"I want you, Sophia. I will never, ever let you go."

From then on, I became the only light in her life.

I accompanied her to therapy, gave her medication, and helped her endure countless nights battling suicidal thoughts.

That scar was the brand of her depression, and even more, it was the medal of our life-and-death bond.

After high school graduation, we naturally started dating.

Though our paths diverged in college due to different majors,

Attending two different universities in the same city, four years of long distance didn't dilute our feelings.

After graduation, I knelt on one knee with a diamond ring and proposed to her.

Her eyes red, she nodded yes. We got married and have been together for four whole years now.

She was always so good to me; she'd even personally brew the ginger tea when I had a cold. If I so much as frowned, she'd be anxious for ages.

I always thought I was the happiest man in the world.

Until tonight, when that familiar scar,

In the most absurd and cruel way imaginable,

Appeared in a post by a man claiming to have "had a child with his best friend's wife."

I trembled all over, biting my lower lip until I tasted blood.

With shaking hands, I tapped on the poster's profile picture.

The page loaded for a few seconds, then a cold message popped up:

"Due to the user's settings, you cannot view their profile activity."

He had blocked me.

Or rather, he had blocked this account.

"WindRiver"... Noah White.

My best friend, Noah White.

We were college roommates, four years of living together,

So close wed wear the same jacket, eat from the same instant noodle cup.

I considered him the closest person in this city besides Sophia.

In our freshman year, I introduced Sophia to him.

How could I have known that was the beginning of letting a wolf into the fold?

I forced myself to calm down, exited the app,

Switched to a burner account I'd never used, and re-searched to click into his profile.

Hundreds of posts, like a meticulously planned, drawn-out torture, rained down on me.

[Today, the baby kicked for the first time. She touched her belly, her eyes brimming with tears, and said, "This is the fruit of our love.]

Attached image: A woman's hand resting on a swollen pregnant belly.

On that wrist, the faint scar was still visible.

"Our first family trip. With her by my side, I fear nothing."

Attached image: A sunny beach, a little boy, perhaps two or three years old, riding on the woman's shoulders.

Only the lower half of the woman's face was visible, a doting smile on her lips.

That jawline, that curve of her smile, I had kissed countless times, familiar enough to be etched into my very bones.

Like a masochist, I scrolled down, post by post.

Every single photo, every single caption, aligned perfectly with Sophia's and my memories.

Three years ago, during the May Day holiday, Sophia said she was going out of town for a project evaluation. In reality, she was accompanying Noah for a prenatal check-up.

Two years ago, on my birthday, Sophia said her flight was delayed and she couldn't make it back.

In reality, their child had a high fever, and she stayed up all night at the hospital.

Last month, for our wedding anniversary, she gave me a limited edition watch.

Then turned around and bought Noah a Porsche, with the caption: "A reward for my great hero."

What struck me as most absurd and chilling was that line: "Because his wifes marriage certificate with mine is the real one."

I yanked open my drawer and pulled out my and Sophia's marriage certificate.

A red booklet, the seal clear, our faces in the photo beaming with sweetness.

I remembered that graduation party.

Everyone was so happy that day. Noah kept pulling me into drinking games.

My tolerance for alcohol wasn't great to begin with, and after a few drinks, I blacked out.

When I woke up the next day, I was in a hotel room, my head throbbing.

Sophia sat by the bed, her eyes bloodshot, gripping my hand tightly, saying:

"Dan, I drank too much last night and didn't take good care of you. I'm sorry."

At the time, I thought she was just blaming herself for not stopping me from drinking.

Now, looking back, her apology wasn't about my getting drunk at all.

It was because, on that night I lost consciousness,

She and my best friend were having sex in the room next door!

Later, Noah suddenly came to me, red-eyed, and said he'd broken up with his girlfriend and wanted to go abroad to clear his head.

I, like an idiot, went to the airport to see him off,

Patting his shoulder, comforting him for a long time, telling him to take good care of himself.

Turns out he never went abroad!

He was just in the next state, waiting for my wife to give him a child,

Complacently enjoying Sophias care,

And openly mocking me, the oblivious husband, on social media!

My stomach churned. I rushed into the bathroom and dry-heaved violently into the toilet.

Nothing came up, just a mouthful of bitter, sour bile.

I looked at myself in the mirror, eyes bloodshot, face ashen.

I suddenly felt that the past four years of stability and happiness were like a soap bubble.

It had looked radiant and dreamlike, but now, popped, there was nothing left but emptiness.

I didn't cry.

Tears seemed too cheap in the face of such extreme anger and shock.

I picked up my phone again, opened Noah Whites anonymous account,

And searched for clues in his photos, despite not showing faces.

In one picture, a window was half-open,

And faintly visible outside was the spire of a building.

It was the iconic Seastar TV Tower, a landmark in H City, the neighboring state.

In the corner of another photo, there was a distinctive chain coffee shop sign.

In yet another picture, the stone lions at the entrance of a residential complex were vaguely captured.

In less than half an hour, I had pinpointed Noah's exact location: H City, the Cypress Grove Luxury Villa Area.

Less than three kilometers from a large amusement park.

Without a moment's hesitation, I got up, changed into comfortable athletic wear,

Grabbed my car keys and all my identification, and headed to the garage.

The moment I started the engine, my mind was exceptionally clear.

I didn't want to hysterically question her over the phone, nor did I want to listen to her explanations filled with lies.

I wanted to see it with my own eyes.

To see the woman I had saved with my life, to see the friend I had treated with all my heart.

How they secretly trampled my dignity, building their happy little family of three.

My hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white from the force.

Images from the past decade flashed through my mind like a movie.

That year, when Sophia was sixteen, her mother beat her until her head bled, and she hid in our guest room,

Clutching my shirt like a wounded kitten, saying, "Dan, I only have you."

That year, when I was twenty-two, I knelt with a diamond ring,

My eyes glistening with tears: "Sophia, I'll love you with my life, forever."

Just last week, she was still gently straightening my tie, saying softly:

"Honey, let's have a baby. A handsome little prince, just like you."

And on the other side, there was Noah in our college dorm, patting his chest and telling me:

"Dan, if anyone ever dares to bully you, I, Noah White, will be the first to tear them apart!"

It was him at the airport before he left, his eyes red, patting my shoulder: "Dan, you must be happy."

These images intertwined,

Finally settling on that photo of intertwined hands on the social media post,

And that jarring line: "His wife often comes to see us now, and our family of three is very happy."

Sophia, I never knew you were such a skilled actress.

I arrived early at the amusement park entrance in H City and rested for a bit.

The next morning, Noah's anonymous account updated.

[Good morning! Off to the amusement park! Dressed the little one in the cutest bear outfit today!]

The accompanying photo was a selfie of him in the passenger seat,

The background showing the interior of Sophias familiar black Maybach.

I waited by the entrance, like a hunter lying in wait, for them to arrive.

Mommy! Lets go on the carousel!

A clear, childish voice called out not far behind me.

Okay, okay, whatever you want to ride, Mommy will go with you.

The woman's gentle, doting voice,

Like a poisoned blade, pierced my eardrums with precise accuracy.

Sophia.

Even in a bustling crowd,

Even just a short, coaxing phrase to a child, I could never mistake that voice.

I rigidly turned around,

About fifteen meters away, through the jostling crowd, I saw them.

It was truly a dazzling yet harmonious scene.

Sophia wore a casual white shirt, sleeves rolled up, revealing that scarred wrist.

She was looking down at a little boy, about three years old, dressed in a bear outfit,

Her face alight with a mother's tender smile.

Noah stood beside her,

Wearing a light blue hooded sweatshirt, his short hair neat,

Wiping sweat from the little boy's face with a tissue.

He looked at Sophia with eyes full of love and devotion.

They stood together, a handsome couple with an adorable child,

Anyone who saw them would exclaim: "What a happy family of three."

I stood rooted to the spot, feeling all the sounds around me fade away in that moment.

I thought I had prepared myself mentally,

I thought I had already exhausted all my heartache on the drive here.

But when this bloody truth, these living people stood before me,

I realized that the pain of being betrayed by those closest and dearest to me,

Was beyond words.

It was like someone had reached into my chest,

Crushing my heart into pieces while it was still alive,

Then stuffing the mangled flesh back into place.

I followed closely behind them,

Almost masochistically watching their happy family enjoy the entire day.

Until numbness set in.

In the afternoon, the child clamored for ice cream,

Sophia turned to join the queue.

Noah held the childs hand, waiting for her under the shade of a tree.

The little boy had a red rubber toy ball in his hand, idly bouncing it on the ground.

Suddenly, the little boys hand slipped,

The toy ball flew out of his control,

Rolling across the ground towards me.

Noah was looking down at his phone,

Not noticing the childs ball had gotten away.

The red toy ball stopped right at my feet.

The little boy ran breathlessly up to me.

He was truly a very handsome child,

His eyes and eyebrows were so much like Sophias, but his nose and mouth resembled Noahs.

The little boy looked up,

His clear eyes fixed on me, and he said in a sweet, childish voice:

Uncle, can you give me my ball back?

I took a deep breath, slowly knelt down,

Picked up the red ball, and handed it to him.

Thank you, Uncle!

The little boy happily took the ball,

And flashed a bright smile.

Leo! Dont run off!

Not far away, Noah finally realized the child was gone,

And anxiously looked up, searching around.

When his gaze swept across the crowd,

And landed on the little boy holding the ball,

He let out a sigh of relief.

Then, his eyes followed the little boy,

And found me, kneeling in front of him.

I slowly stood up,

Took off my sunglasses,

And calmly met his gaze.