I let him use my body, hoping it would mean something—anything. But with every movement, it became more obvious that I was never the one he wanted.
His grip on my hips was firm as he took me from behind. There were no gentle touches or soft words. Just skin against skin, sweat, and the sound of our bodies colliding in the dark.
"T-Troy… don't stop," I whispered, my voice cracking from the effort to hold back everything I really felt.
At that moment, I didn't care anymore. Not about pride nor the lines I had crossed. I was the one begging. This wasn't love, I knew that. But pretending it was made the pain feel more bearable, even just for a little while.
My legs felt weak, but he didn't stop. It was our third round that night. We were both exhausted from work, but somehow, this felt like the only thing we had left. And maybe that's exactly what it was—just the last bit of something that never really began.
My name is Maxine.
During the day, I'm his secretary. At night, I'm his secret.
I schedule his meetings, answer his calls, and stand beside him during business presentations. But when we're alone, I become someone else—someone he doesn't even acknowledge in the morning.
I was never meant to be part of the story. He didn't choose me. I was just the one who happened to be there when she left. Her name is Trina Pascua, the woman he once loved. The one who walked away to chase her dreams abroad. And I was the one who stayed.
I was there when he closed himself off. When he stopped believing in love. I thought that maybe, if I stayed long enough and gave enough of myself, he'd finally see me. That he'd learn to love me back. But there were no promises between us. No labels or future. It was just sex and me, pretending this was enough. But every time he pulled away, something inside me shattered. The worst part was that he never even noticed. I was just the replacement. The convenient option. The one who was there because the real one left.
"Are you heading home?" I asked quietly while he zipped up his jeans. He didn't answer right away. He was still shirtless, still so attractive, but cold as ice. He picked up his shirt and put it on like staying in the room with me even a moment longer was uncomfortable.
"Yeah," he finally said, not even glancing in my direction. Then he walked to the door.
"Just lock the door behind me," he added before stepping out.
The words landed like a punch in my chest. No kiss or goodbye, not even a look. I sat there on the bed, still naked while catching my breath. I had wanted to hold him afterward. But I never had that right.
His heart still belonged to Trina. And me? I was just the one who offered to take her place.
I stared at the ceiling, unmoving. The bed was still warm. My body was still damp with sweat. I knew I should get up and clean myself, but I couldn't move. What was the point? No matter how many nights I gave him, it would never be enough.
My phone rang. Danica, my best friend was calling. The only person who still reminded me that I used to know my worth.
"Max, don't tell me you were with him again," she said the moment I answered.
I didn't reply.
"You're letting him use you," she continued.
"I'm fine," I said, barely above a whisper.
"No, you're not," she snapped. "You love him, and he doesn't even see you."
I didn't say anything. I stared at the wall like it could save me.
"You're always the one who texts first. The one who waits and stays. Isn't it obvious? You're the only one trying."
I still didn't respond. She already knew. She didn't need an answer.
"You deserve better than being someone's second choice," she said before going silent.
I ended the call and opened my messages.
To: Troy
Are you home?
It was marked as read at 11:48 PM. No reply.
I waited. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. Still nothing.
The phone felt heavy in my hand. I stood up and walked to the kitchen, trying to act like everything was normal. I cooked adobo, like I always did. But even the smell made me feel sick. He probably already ate. Maybe he was with her.
Yes, Trina was back.
All those years I stayed by his side, loved him quietly, gave him everything—and I still lost. Then she walked back into his life like she never left, like she never broke him. And he welcomed her as if nothing had ever happened. Like I was never even there.
Maybe they were together now, sitting across from each other, holding hands. Maybe he was whispering things to her—words he never said to me.
Then a message came in.
From: Troy
Can you not text me tonight? I'm with someone.
I stared at the screen.
A second message followed.
Please don't make this complicated.
Complicated?
I was never even part of his life enough to complicate it.
The phone slipped from my hand. I held onto the counter to stop myself from falling. My hands were shaking. The tears came all at once, hard and uninvited.
How did I end up like this?
I gave him everything—my time, my body, my patience, my silence.
I never said anything when he left right after sex. I let him pretend like I didn't matter. I let myself believe that it was enough. And now he was asking me not to message him. Because he was with someone else.
Someone real. Someone he actually chose.
Another notification popped up on my screen.
Instagram: @trina.pascua posted a story.
I didn't want to look. But I did.
It was them. Together. Sitting at a quiet dinner table.
He was smiling.
The same watch. The same hands. The same man who had been inside me just hours ago.
The caption read:
Second chances are the best kind.
I stared until my eyes started to blur. It wasn't the caption that hurt me the most. It was his smile.
He looked happy. Happier than I had ever seen him.
Happier than he ever was with me.
I dropped to the floor. I wasn't even angry. I was just tired. He didn't leave me tonight because never planned to stay.