Six Months After the Wedding – A Trip, A Fight, and A Secret
It had been six months since our wedding day. Six months since I wore that beautiful white lace dress and stood on a hill in the golden sunlight, holding Mike’s hands and believing every single promise he whispered to me.
That day had felt like a dream. Everything was soft, glowing, perfect. Mike had looked at me like I was his whole world.
But now… now things felt different. I was sitting alone at our kitchen table, the room dim and quiet. Outside, the light had faded to a cold gray. My laptop screen glowed in front of me like a tiny moon.
I stared at our wedding photos again, clicking through them slowly. There I was—smiling wide, cheeks glowing, leaning my head against Mike’s shoulder. He had his arm wrapped around me like he’d never let go.
We looked like a couple who had it all figured out.
But something had changed.
It didn’t happen fast. There was no big fight or dramatic moment. It happened slowly, like a leaky faucet dripping on stone. Drip… drip… until one day, a crack appears.
Mike was always working now. Always tired. If he wasn’t sending work emails, he was glued to his phone—texting coworkers or checking his fantasy football scores.
He was home, but not really. I could feel the space between us growing bigger, like we were on two separate islands with no bridge in sight.
I opened a new tab and typed in “honeymoon beach resorts.” My heart thudded in my chest. I needed this. We needed this. Something to bring us back.
The front door creaked open.
Without turning around, I said, “I booked a hotel. We leave Friday.”
Mike stopped behind me. “You did what?”
I stood and faced him. “I booked it. I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”
He ran his hand over his forehead. “Sam, come on. This week? I’ve got two projects launching, and—”
I cut him off, my voice sharp. “Not now? Then when? When we stop caring? When we’re just strangers living in the same house?”
He went silent.
Then he let out a long breath. “You’re right. I’ll cancel everything. Let’s go.”
I stepped forward and hugged him tight, my arms wrapping around his waist. Just for a moment, I felt like that bride again.
The hotel looked like a dream. Palm trees swayed gently in the breeze, white curtains floated in the windows like soft dancers, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the ocean humming.
“I told you I know how to plan things,” I said, grinning at Mike.
He smiled back—really smiled—and it felt like the first genuine one I’d seen in weeks.
We walked into the hotel together, our bags rolling behind us. My heart beat fast as I stepped up to the front desk.
“Reservation under Whitaker,” I said proudly. “King suite.”
The receptionist—Maddie, her gold name tag sparkling—started typing. But her smile slowly faded. Her brows furrowed.
“You’re in a standard double room,” she said, looking up.
My stomach dropped. “No,” I replied firmly. “I paid for the king suite. It’s in the confirmation email.”
She clicked a few more times, lips tight. Then shook her head. “Sorry. It’s not showing in the system.”
I pulled out my phone, hands slightly trembling, and showed her the email, the receipt, everything.
She looked at it, nodded… and still gave me that tight, apologetic smile. “There’s nothing I can do right now. The manager will be available later this evening.”
“I want to speak to her now,” I snapped.
“She’s not on the property,” Maddie said, backing away slightly.
Before I could argue more, Mike came up beside me. He gently placed a hand on my back.
“Let’s go to the room,” he said softly. “We’ll talk to the manager later.”
I didn’t want to give in. I was fuming. But I swallowed my anger and followed him upstairs.
The room was a disappointment. No ocean view. No romantic tub. Just dull beige blankets and heavy curtains. It felt like a cheap motel.
I dropped my suitcase with a loud thud. Mike sat beside me and gently held my hand.
“This trip is about us,” he said quietly. “Not about the room. Let’s not let this ruin everything.”
I looked at him and took a deep breath. “Okay,” I said, forcing a small smile. “Let’s go have dinner.”
I was fixing my hair when someone knocked at the door.
I opened it to find a woman in her 50s standing there. Tall. Thin. Her cheekbones sharp, lips pressed in a tight line. She wore a gray blazer and had a face like stone—cold, unreadable.
“I’m Madeline. Hotel manager,” she said. Her voice was dry and flat.
I nodded and grabbed my phone.
“I reserved the king suite,” I said, showing her my confirmation. “I paid in full.”
She barely glanced at it. “There was an error. The suite was already given to another guest.”
My heart pounded. “So what now?” I asked. “You just tell me too bad?”
“There are no other suites available,” she said bluntly. “You’ll need to stay where you are.”
“No refund? No apology?” I demanded, fists clenching.
“That’s our policy,” she replied, as cold as ice. “Good evening.”
She turned and walked away, her heels clicking like a hammer on stone.
I stood frozen, shaking with anger.
Mike came up behind me, brushed my arm gently. “Let it go, Sam. We can still have a great night.”
He kissed my forehead. “I’ll get us a table by the window. Take your time.”
I nodded, but my mind was racing.
Something about Madeline didn’t sit right with me. Her coldness—it didn’t feel like a simple mistake. It felt personal.
I waited until Mike left, then slipped out the door, quiet as a whisper.
Earlier, I’d seen Madeline go through a staff-only door behind the lobby.
I followed the hallway to the back of the hotel. At the end, there was a plain beige door—no number, no decoration. Just… hidden.
I pressed myself against the wall and waited.
Soon, Madeline came out, a folder under one arm. She didn’t see me. She turned the corner and disappeared.
I spotted a cleaning cart nearby, towels and tiny soap bottles piled on it. On top—someone had left a keycard.
My hands shook as I grabbed it.
This is crazy, I thought. But I couldn’t stop.
I slid the card through the door lock.
Green light. Click.
I stepped into her room.
It was spotless. Empty. Clean like no one actually lived there. No photos. No personal stuff. The bed looked untouched.
On the desk by the window was an open notebook.
I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help it.
I leaned closer and read.
“Another couple tonight. Laughing. Arguing. Crying. Always wasting the time they have.”
“I watch them from a distance. I wonder what it would feel like to have someone wait for you with flowers in their hands.”
“If I ever find love, I won’t waste it. I’ll hold it like a warm coat in the winter.”
Tears had stained the pages. My chest ached.
Madeline wasn’t cold. She was lonely.
She watched people fall in love, fight, make up, over and over—and all she wanted was someone of her own.
I had that. And I was about to throw it away… over a hotel room.
I found Mike in the restaurant. The candlelight made him look just like he did six months ago—kind, warm, hopeful.
“You’re radiant,” he said as I walked in.
I sat down slowly, took his hands in mine. “I owe you an apology.”
He looked confused. “What for?”
“For letting everything else matter more than you. For almost ruining this trip. For almost forgetting us.”
Mike shook his head. “We both forgot, Sam. Life got noisy. We stopped listening.”
I swallowed hard. “I followed her. The manager. I went into her room.”
His eyebrows lifted, but he didn’t pull away.
“She’s not rude because she’s mean,” I whispered. “She’s just… sad. She sees couples like us every day. And all she feels is what she’s missing.”
Mike leaned closer. “So we remember now?”
I nodded, tears in my eyes.
“From now on, I choose you,” I said. “Even if the bed’s lumpy and the view sucks.”
We laughed together, hearts lighter. We toasted with cheap wine, and it somehow tasted sweeter than anything before.
As we laughed, I spotted Madeline walking through the dining room. Clipboard in hand, eyes focused.
She saw me. I smiled—soft and sincere.
And for the first time… she smiled back.
