I looked up the cafe.

Following the location tags, I found my way to Lindsay's profile.

She shot on film and posted pictures of cats, skies, the river at night, and pour-over coffee. She had a quiet and clean presence, like a blank page.

I kept scrolling down until my finger froze on a photo of a night scene.

I knew that riverside all too well. During college, Lionel and I had walked there countless times. I could recognize the railing, the streetlamp, and the shadow of the bridge in the distance with my eyes closed.

The caption simply read, "Someone took me to see the most beautiful night view in this city."

My breath hitched.

That was my place—our place. But Lionel had already walked it all over again with someone else.

I scrolled further down to a photo of a desk. Tucked into the corner was a fountain pen with a black barrel and a silver clip.

It was the Montblanc I had given Lionel.

Back when he got accepted into his graduate program, I used the money I'd been saving for a long time to buy it for him.

Holding my hand, he had kissed it and said, "I'll think of you every time I use it."

Later, he told me the pen had gone missing at the office. I even turned the house upside down looking for it.

It turned out it wasn't lost. He had given it away.

I brushed my fingers over my hand and found the skin there cold to the touch.

In another post, Lindsay had checked in to a documentary—the exact same one Lionel had suddenly started watching recently.

I had asked him to watch so many movies with me, but he always said they were boring, pointless, and that he'd rather just sleep.

In five years, I hadn't managed to change a single habit of his. Yet, in the three months since Lindsay appeared, he'd changed his preferences and even his hobbies.

I slowly lifted my gaze toward the wardrobe in the bedroom. Lionel had added a lot of new shirts lately, with sharper cuts and colors that weren't so dull anymore.

I had once pulled him in front of a department store mirror and picked out a light gray coat for him, only for him to say, "Us men aren't that fussy when it comes to clothes."

I had signed us up for a couple's gym membership, but he never went even once. I had bought a whole box of hand cream, but he found it too much trouble, so it sat there untouched.

But lately, he'd started working out, wearing cologne, and keeping his hands clean and smooth.

Five years of marriage couldn't change him. Lindsay showed up, and he turned himself into a whole new person overnight.

It turned out he was capable of changing for the better after all—just not for me.

That afternoon, I dug out our wedding video.

In it, Lionel was wearing a black suit, his eyes terribly red. He stood under the lights, holding my hand.

He said, "You'll always be number one in my heart. If that day ever comes when you're not, it will only be because I'm not around anymore."

Back then, I couldn't stop crying. He lifted his hand to wipe my tears, and all the guests were clapping.

I closed the video and laid the screen face down on the desk.

When I looked up again, Lindsay's name was already pressed right up against mine.

That night, Lionel came home very late.

There was a faint hickey on the side of his neck.

He didn't even wait for me to ask before explaining with a smile, "The new shirt collar's a bit scratchy."

With that, he went straight into the bathroom and washed off every trace. After he changed into his pajamas and got into bed, he wrapped his arms around me from behind.

"How was your day, honey?"

He lowered his head and kissed me behind the ear. His breath was warm, his movements practiced and familiar—just like every night for the past five years.

But after he fell asleep, I looked up above his head. In second place was Lindsay. And me? I was in third place.

On the very night he held me, called me "honey", and kissed me, I was finally pushed down to third place by Lindsay.

I lay there with my eyes open. Though not a single tear fell, I felt a chill slowly spread from the depths of my eyes through my entire body.

The next morning, I opened Lindsay's riverside night photo again.

The railing and the streetlamp in the picture looked more and more familiar the longer I stared.

It was only much later that I remembered that just around the bend of that river was the little restaurant near the college we used to go to most often.

So, it wasn't just the fountain pen and the coffee preference. Even the places Lionel and I had walked through countless times, he had already revisited with someone else.

I stared at that photo for a very long time, feeling neither anger nor resentment.

Only one thought remained—I had to go see for myself, to find out just how much sincerity could possibly be left in those old places that once belonged only to me, now that he was using them to sweet-talk someone else.

On Saturday, I suggested we go back to that little restaurant near the college.

"It's been so long, so I've been craving it."

Lionel agreed right away.

The owner, Jerry Smith, still remembered us. The moment he saw us, he grinned and said, "You two lovebirds finally decided to come back!"

Lionel smiled too, pulling out a chair for me with practiced ease. He ordered all my favorite food—buffalo wings, mushroom salad, and cheesy fries. He even remembered that I didn't like onions.

He chatted with Jerry about the old days, recalling how I always used to love sitting by the window or how I'd get so nervous before exams that I could down two bowls of soup in one go.

Lionel said all this with a perfectly natural expression, as if nothing had really changed.

The whole time, I watched the ranking above his head. Lindsay stayed perfectly still in second place.

I laughed, kept the conversation going, and did everything I could to salvage the old days, piece by piece. But after an entire meal, I couldn't even manage to nudge myself back up in the ranking.

Halfway through the meal, Lionel's phone rang. He glanced at it and said, "I'm going to take this call."

Beyond the glass door, he stood with his back to me. One hand was tucked in his pocket, and his shoulders hung slack and relaxed.

At one point in the conversation, he looked down and smiled.

I knew that smile all too well. It was unguarded and carried a tenderness he only ever wore for someone close to his heart.

I looked down at the food on the table. They were all my favorites, but the steam was fading. And even though Lionel was just right outside the door, his heart had wandered much further away.

On the ranking, Lindsay was slowly closing in on first place.

When Lionel came back, he saw right away that my mood had shifted, so he immediately started making up for it. He put food on my plate, apologized in a low voice, and said something had come up with a client at the last minute.

Then, he looked at me and, as if afraid I wouldn't believe him, quickly added, "I've taken three days off for our anniversary next month. I'll take you to that island you've always wanted to visit."

The moment he said it, I instinctively checked the ranking.

My name had indeed floated up ever so slightly. Suddenly, it dawned on me that he was being good to me not because his love had returned, but out of guilt.

Three days off bought him a clear conscience. It was like an exquisite receipt that settled the bill for his betrayal.

I smiled and replied, "Okay."

Even I found my own smile unfamiliar.

Walking out of the restaurant, we passed a very young couple by the roadside. The young man was holding the young woman's hand, his smile bright. Above his head, the young woman beside him was in first place—clean and simple. In fact, there was no other name in sight.

The elderly couple at our residential complex gate were the same. The old man took his time helping his wife across the street; her name sat steadily in first place above his head, unchanged decade after decade.

I stood frozen for a moment, suddenly dazed.

So, this was what it felt like to be placed first.

I turned my head to look at Lionel.

He had his head down, replying to a message.

Mom was in first place, Lindsay in second, and I was in third.

I had never once been first in his heart.

After we got home, he went into the study, saying he still had work to deal with.

I sat alone in the living room with the lights off.

In the darkness, I finally made up my mind.

I was done waiting. I refused to be the person slipping further and further down his list.

I picked up my phone and scrolled through the company event photos Lindsay had posted, confirming the place she often went to at lunchtime.

It was that same cafe.

The next day at noon, I arrived at the cafe early.

I ordered a long black and sat in the farthest corner to wait.

A little past 12:00 pm, Lindsay walked in. She had short hair, wore a white shirt, and wore barely any makeup. She sat down quietly and ordered a vanilla latte.

She was so ordinary that she was almost plain. But I saw the ranking above her head at a single glance, and in first place was Lionel.

My husband was the most important person in her life, and she, too, was his; the two rankings interlocked end to end, like a closed circle.

And I was shut outside that circle.

After she sat down, she turned on her laptop and began editing images.

I got up to go to the restroom. As I passed her table, I caught a glimpse of her phone case out of the corner of my eye.

Inside the transparent case was a photo of two figures standing side by side by the river, their backs to the camera.

I knew that section of the railing and that streetlamp so well that I could recognize them even in my dreams. I also recognized the bracelet on her wrist; Lionel had bought almost all my jewelry from that same shop over the years.

I walked into the restroom and stood in front of the mirror for a few seconds before turning on the faucet. Cold water hit my face and trickled down my chin.

My hands wouldn't stop trembling.

When I got back to my table, I picked up my coffee and walked over to where Lindsay was seated.

"Hi, I see you come here often too?" I asked, sitting down across from her.

Lindsay paused for a beat, then smiled politely.

"Yeah, I really like the vanilla latte here."

I looked at her cup of milky coffee, and it felt like my chest was being crushed.

We chatted idly for a bit—about cats, the weather, and the new desserts the cafe had just launched.

She spoke slowly and softly, without a trace of aggression. That only made my throat tighten even more.

As casually as I could, I asked, "Are you here by yourself?"

Lindsay looked down and smiled.

"No, my boyfriend has a meeting at noon and is coming to pick me up later."

When I heard the word "boyfriend", everything inside me went utterly still.

Lindsay didn't know. She knew nothing at all.

In her world, Lionel wasn't a married man, but simply her boyfriend. And in his other life, I had been erased so thoroughly that I wasn't even allowed to exist.

Lindsay's phone suddenly rang, and she answered sweetly, "Yeah, I'm at the usual spot. You're almost here? Okay."

After hanging up, she smiled at me. "Sorry, my boyfriend's here. He's a really good guy."

Before I could say a word, the cafe door swung open.

Lionel walked in, holding two vanilla lattes. His gaze fell naturally toward Lindsay, the corners of his mouth already lifting into an easy smile.

But then, his line of sight shifted an inch to the side. The moment he saw me, his entire body froze. The smile seized on his face, and the color slowly drained from it.

The next second, his fingers went slack. The paper bag hit the floor, and the cup lids popped open. Coffee spilled everywhere, instantly filling the air with the cloying sweetness of vanilla.

The entire cafe fell silent.

Lindsay looked back and forth between Lionel and me, dazed.

Lionel remained standing at the doorway, as if nailed to the spot.

I slowly rose to my feet and walked toward him.

The spilled coffee snaked across the floor by his feet, like a dream that had never truly belonged to me.

I stopped in front of him and, for the last time, looked up above his head.

In first place was Lindsay, in second place was his mother, and third—me.

A faint smile touched my lips.

"Lionel, do you know what place I hold in your heart?"