I was way too good at faking it.

Well, maybe not as good as I imagined.

The clanging sound of lockers opening and closing should have been background noise to me by now. Yet, every day around this time, a feeling of dejection would settle over my heart like dirt falling on a coffin.

The throb of loneliness was sharp and bitter as always as I studied my colleagues making their way home.

All these women, brilliant nurses and powerful surgeons were going home to a significant other. The young ones usually had some hot date with a handsome hunk they'd met a couple of weeks ago off Tinder; the older ones couldn't wait to go home to their husbands of twenty plus years.

But me? I was going home to my retired dad and my cat Oreo.

There was nothing wrong with that, except for the fact that today was my eleventh wedding anniversary.

I was married to an illusion, a man I'd only met and seen once on what had turned out to be the worse day of my life so far. The day my mother died.

I knew that having someone to go home to wasn't always roses and sunshine. Nurse Brimmer whose locker was two doors over was in no rush to get home to her alcoholic and sometimes abusive husband of six years. She took her precious time putting away her surgical clogs in the appointed dirty shoe rack and then with a sigh, she slipped on the shoes she'd come with.

Her blue eyes were guarded as she approached me, her surgical cap still on her head and a small smile tugging the corners of her lips.

"Dr. Miller," she said in acknowledgment. "Another late night, hmm?"

"The usual fourteen hours," I said as I pulled on my jeans and buttoned them up. "I just might have to move my bed into this place. My husband wouldn't mind at all." I laughed and it was not the happy kind. This was the laugh of a disgruntled woman.

Nurse Brimmer frowned. "I don't get it. Why do you want to be married so badly? You always make jokes about not having a husband at home as if it's the worse thing in the world."

I bit my lip, fighting back the urge to tell her that I was actually married. That I had a husband. That today was our wedding anniversary and that I was going home alone to an empty bed.

There would be no roses and dinners at some fancy restaurant. I would not be dressing up in lingerie this night, my sole purpose to seduce him and remind him that I was still hot and sexy.

There would be no 'I love you' and 'I can't live without you'. No cuddles after sex and no fight the next morning because it was Sunday and I had to go in for work on what was supposed to be my day off.

I wanted to tell nurse Brimmer that just because her marriage was shit, didn't mean that every other marriage was too. My parents had a happy marriage up until the day my mother died and I refused to settle for less.

Honestly, after a while, I didn't care that my husband had deserted me two days after our wedding. That he hadn't stayed for my mother's funeral. After all, he was a stranger that I'd met and married on the very same day.

I was just seventeen, for crying out loud. At first, I was eager to marry him because I thought it meant I was a grown woman and I couldn't wait to start my Disney fairytale and happily ever after with my literal prince charming.

So damn eager, it got my mother killed.

After her funeral, I buried myself in school, graduated early and got myself into medical school. I didn't think about my husband for years and I rarely missed him, but lately, gah, he was all I could think about.

Nurse Brimmer's lips were moving, but I couldn't make out the words. She'd changed into normal clothes and her surgical cap was gone. Her blond hair was messy but in a good way.

"You're still so young, Dr. Miller. Believe me, take full advantage of being single. I'm sure there are at least a hundred guys lined up at your door begging to go on dates with you. Date all of them and be damn picky. Don't settle."

"I'm twenty-eight and I want children. Besides, there are zero guys lined up as you so eloquently put it. Zero." I made an O with my fingers for emphasis.

"I find that hard to believe. Apparently, you haven't met my husband. He likes your type — young, pretty, successful. He's a fucking dog, I'm telling you. I can't invite him anywhere because he makes a habit of flirting with almost every woman in the room."

"What I don't get is, why are you still with him?"

This time it was nurse Brimmer's turn to laugh. A bitter laugh that rumbled from her stomach. "It's complicated okay, especially with two kids in the picture. Anyway, as I was saying, you're a brilliant surgeon. One of two pediatric surgeons in the Dutch Caribbean and definitely the best, why would you want to tie your feet with kids? Most surgeons of your caliber don't have kids until their late thirties, early forties, if at all."

"But I'm not most surgeons, am I? I want kids while I'm still young and full of life." I couldn't help the acute yearning in my voice.

I didn't know what was worse, listening to the other women talk about their hot dates and too awesome boyfriends and husbands, or listening to nurse Brimmer bitch about her lousy husband.

My God, I detested my husband for putting me in this position. How could he just abandon me for eleven years? I didn't even know if he was dead or alive.

Dead to me, that's what he was.

Nurse Brimmer had her last words and I watched her shuffle away, feet dragging as if she had a thousand kilos resting on her shoulders. I still couldn't believe that she'd seen right through me. I thought I was doing a darn good job at pretending to be happy with my single life. That my career was everything to me and I didn't need a man to be happy.

So why did I feel so unhappy whenever I saw a couple out and about, laughing and hugging, and kissing?

Certain things, one just couldn't fake.

Pretending to be happy was at the top of the motherfucking list.

I grabbed my bag and made my way to the parking lot where my dad's Toyota pick-up was parked. Out of habit, I opened the glove compartment and lifted my wedding ring out of the maroon velvet box and put it on my finger. It was a snug fit eleven years later and I knew at that moment that something was fundamentally wrong with me.

I was in a committed relationship with a ghost.

What was it about that man— who I'd only met once —that kept me craving him in the worse possible way? It wasn't even sexual, although that was part of it. I wanted to be touched... to be made love to. I wanted to stare into his grey eyes and no one else's as he caressed my chin and told me to take my fucking panties off because he wanted to eat his pussy.

It was all of that and more. Sometimes I just needed someone to talk to that wasn't my dad or my cat. Someone to spend the day on the beach with, people watching while we sipped on mimosas.

My virgin ass needed some dick.

And those things couldn't happen with an idiotic ghost. I needed substance. That's all a girl was asking for.

It was almost eight o'clock when I pulled up at our house, a huge concrete structure the color of corn on the cub and way too big for just dad and I. The sun had set at least an hour ago and the air was still warm and I could smell the salt from the sea in the air.

To my surprise, when I got out of the car, my father was waiting for me on the front porch.

"Amelia! Amy, darling," he said as he wobbled down the steps, his grip on the balustrade overly tight to maintain his balance. He was excited about something. I could hear it as he chuckled and tried to breathe at the same time.

I flung the car door open and almost hit my father's mountainous stomach. He didn't seem to care and only came closer. "Amy, you're home," he said as if my coming home was a rare thing.

I eyed him suspiciously. "What is it, Papa? Spit it out. You're acting weird."

The flurry of excitement on his face was so not like him. He didn't get excited. At least not after mom had passed. So yeah, he needed to wipe that grin off his face.

"Look," he said, his breath coming out in puffs as if the short sprint from the porch to the car had straight-up emptied his lungs. In his hand, he held a white envelope and he was pushing it in my face. "This came for you."

I stared at the piece of paper as if it was going to lash out and strike me. I had no idea who the letter could be from. I hadn't applied for any jobs, and if I had, I'm certain I would have gotten an email and not this ancient form of communication.

My father shook the envelope some more and I noticed that his hands were trembling. "You should really read it," he said.

I swallowed. I didn't like this one bit. That look on my father's face just couldn't be trusted.

"Who's it from?"

"Who do you think?"

"I don't know, Papa. Why don't you just tell me? Did one of your old friends write to you? Or is it mom's sister? Where is she now? In Thailand stuffing her face? She left us after mom died, so I don't care to know about whatever adventure she's on now."

"It's none of the above."

I got out of the car and tossed my bag over my shoulder. "Then it's not important. I had a long day and I really don't have time for this. Did you eat?"

"Amy, take this. Now." He sternly held the white envelope out to me and with my heart in my throat, I accepted it.

I flipped it over. There were no words on it except for a big letter V with vines creeping artistically around it. Depicted below the V a landscape with tall buildings finished off the fancy logo.

"I'm I supposed to recognize this logo or something?"

My father sighed. "Just open it already. You're making me tired."

"Come on, then, let's open it inside, old man."

In the living room, I dropped myself on my mother's favorite recliner and my father sat on the sofa across from me. I was about to tear open the envelope when Oreo came running out of the kitchen and onto my lap.

The black and white cat rubbed his head along my arm, soft purrs rising from his throat. I smiled and caressed him behind his ears.

"Okay, enough of that," my father said, using his hands to push himself off the couch. He picked up Oreo and with the cat tucked snugly in his arms, he went on to turn on several more lights. "So you can see."

"Right." I tore the envelope to the side and pulled out the fine sheet from inside.

At once I knew who had sent it. The fresh scent of spice and wood engulfed me, tickling my nose and bringing back memories of a stranger with his arms wrapped around me as I mourned the loss of my mother.

My heart sank three stories down and was now located somewhere in my gut. I felt sick as a fine layer of perspiration coated my skin and heat crept up under my skin. I struggled to breathe and tears prickled behind my eyes.

Un-fucking-believable. What audacity.

Willem de Vries, my husband of over ten years had written to me for the first time.

Were all Dutchmen this despicable? Because Willem sure was. Technically, he was half Dutch, but that was beside the point. Still despicable.

I'd waited for this moment for donkey years, the moment when he would write, call, or send a postcard. Every day I thought, maybe tomorrow. He would call tomorrow. He had to. I was his wife.

Now that the time had actually arrived, I was... flabberghasted and downright furious.

All those tomorrows had turned into eleven years!

I'd often thought of getting an annulment but had never had the balls to go through with it. I should have. But instead, I held on all those years, hoping and praying he would remember that I still existed.

Pathetic. Weak. And such a romantic at heart. That was me. A reject.

I read his bold and heavy handwriting in disbelief. The balls on this guy, really. What an arrogant and insensitive prick.

At least, he didn't have his secretary type it up, my inner voice whispered in my mind. Like, whose side was this tramp on?

I didn't care if he'd written the letter with the blood of his ancestors. He was still an ass for treating me like toilet paper, like something to be thrown away and forgotten.

Willem's summon was straight and direct. I snorted. The urge to do his bidding, anyone's bidding as a matter a fact, was new to me.

I looked up at my father. He stood quietly beside the recliner, his brown face intense.

"He wants me to come to him," I whispered.

My father pushed his reading glasses back up his nose. I hadn't even noticed when he'd put them on. "That's good news, Amy. It's what we've been waiting for."

"Good news, Papa? Really? He doesn't care about me. He never did, because two days after our wedding he just upped and left me behind never to be heard from again." I bowed my head and a tear fell on the paper, blurring several letters. "What kind of man marries a woman— a child — and then forsakes her?" I wiped furiously at my eyes. "Tell me. What kind of man does that?"

My father looked stricken and something else resembling regret flashed briefly in his eyes. "Maybe it's not as bad as you think. If he didn't care, he would not have written."

"Papa, stop. He took too long." I crushed the letter in my fist. "I hate him. I fucking hate him."

"Shh, it's okay, darling. I understand your frustration."

"How could you?" I evaded his touch as more tears spilled from my eyes. "You and mom were happily married for twenty-one years. What can you possibly know about this? First of all, you never left mom's side. Not once. You were always there."

"Your mother and I had a different kind of relationship. One based on dependancy and I never wanted that for you. You may not have noticed it, but she was scared of a lot of things, including being alone." He folded his reading glasses and placed it on the arm of the recliner, and then proceeded to rub the inner corner of his eyes. "Loving her was hard, especially when things weren't going so well."

"What are you saying, Papa?"

"I wasn't too keen on pairing you with this Willem guy, but your mother, she was adamant. She saw no faults in him..."

"But you did?"

"He's a guy, Amy, and I know no perfect ones. Just know this, your mother chose me for herself and she chose Willem for you, maybe you need to have some faith in that no matter the timing."

I recoiled. "You're not actually suggesting that I should go to him?"

"Yes."

"Wow. Did you read this letter?" I smoothed out the crumpled paper and then stood up, shoving it under his nose. "Read it out loud and tell me that you're okay with sending me into the lion's den unprotected."

My father was fidgeting uncontrollably now, he could barely hold on to the paper. I pried it from his grasp. "Nevermind, I'll read it."

I cleared my throat. "My dear Amelia. I know it's been a long time, but it's now time for us to live as husband and wife. I have given you more than enough time, maybe even a little too much. A private plane will pick you up at Curacao International Airport three weeks from now at noon on Sunday. The exact details of your flight are printed behind this letter.

Do not carry extra luggage besides the necessities. I hope you come to like me. If not, in a month's time after we've met you can file for a divorce. I do wish you will enjoy your stay here in St. Maarten. I will be there to greet you at the airport and I look forward to seeing your face again after all these years."

I flung the letter to the floor and immediately Oreo was upon it, sharp claws and teeth tearing at its edges, emerald-colored eyes focused on its prey.

"When did I ever ask this idiot for time? We barely had a proper conversation when we met, so where in the world did he get this information from?" I shook my head as I paced around the carpet where Oreo was having the time of his life.

"I don't know, Amy." My father kept his eyes trained on the floor. "A misunderstanding perhaps. All the more reason to go to him and sort this out."

"He had ten years to get to know me and now he wants to throw it all away in a month's time. How much can you possibly learn about someone in such a short time?"

"Amy—"

I whirled around. "And if you think I'm going to leave you here alone for a month, you really don't know me."

The days after my mother's death had been painful. My father had taken it very hard and I had to watch him, a strong man, deteriorate into an old man in such a short time. He retired about six years ago, leaving his manager to run one of the biggest chains of restaurants in the Caribbean.

My father smiled. "I won't be alone. Annaliese is here every day. She cooks and keeps me company."

"I'm not leaving you with the cook. It's not her job to look after you. This conversation is over. I'm not going to chase after this man when he was the one who left me. I have a job that I love and I'm the only surgeon on this island who can do what I do and I'm not about to abandon my kids on a whim. This marriage was a sham from the very start."

"Maybe, but it doesn't have to stay that way."

"Why do you want me to go so bad?" I asked.

He shrugged. "You're not happy and I want you to be happy. I don't like seeing that look in your eyes. I see the way you tug and play with your ring when you think no one's watching."

"And you think he can make me happy?" One eyebrow lifted in skepticism.

"Just look at it this way. Your puzzle is missing a piece and until you find that piece it's always going to feel incomplete," he answered forlornly. "Your mother left a gaping hole in my heart when she passed away and I walked around like a ghost for years. Until Annaliese that is. She makes me feel whole again."

"What?" I nearly gagged.

"I didn't tell you because I wasn't sure how you'd react. I still love your mother very much, but she's not here anymore. You're not getting any younger, Amy. Take this chance to fall in love and stop worrying about me."

I smiled. "You and Annaliese? I didn't see that one coming."

"She's a lovely woman."

"I know. Still not leaving you." I bent over and grabbed the letter out of Oreo's paws. To my disappointment, it was still in one piece.

Hey guys! This is the first complete story I ever posted on Wattpad. I wrote this book a long time ago (high school) and ten years later I've decided to rewrite it. I hope you enjoy the newer and more mature version of Amelia's and Willem's story. Leave a comment and let me know what you think?

❤️ Lady Altagracia