Beautiful Stranger

People are always talking about how hard it is to find love. Especially online. Like, you always have to look out for creeps who just want nudes and fake profiles that try to scam vulnerable, lonely people out of their hard-earned cash. It's pretty scummy, and I'm honestly not sure which is worse. Even with the legit matches you get, it's almost impossible to find someone you really click with. After all that hard work digging through the muck and mire, once in a while you think you've struck gold. That is, until you actually meet them in person. And find out the hard way that the 6'4" twenty-something sensitive jock/poet you matched with is actually an overweight, balding, part-time pizza delivery boy in his late thirties, who hasn't showered since junior high.

After listening to yet another dud ramble on all night about his Waifu, I legitimately thought I'd never find "the one". Luckily, I managed to get out of there before he invited me back to his grammy's basement for a little Japanese Netflix and Chill. On the way back to my apartment, I stopped by my favorite bodega for a bottle of wine and a pint of Ben & Jerry's to drown my sorrows in. The clerk took one look at me - in my good heels, black cocktail dress, and French twist that had taken an hour to get right - and just shook her head. "Third time this month, Janey?" she sighed. "Have you ever considered just giving up and getting a cat?"

I stuck my tongue out at her - immature, I know - and made my way to the ice cream case at the back without saying a word. As if she could do any better. At least I wasn't raising two kids from two different fathers with a third one on the way. If I wasn't in such a bad mood, I would've felt sorry for her. While I stood there, fogging up the glass and debating between Chocolate Therapy and Tonight Dough, my phone let out a muffled "ding" from the depths of my clutch. I already had another match on Bumble.

At first, I wasn't going to look at it. When I got home, however, my curiosity got the better of me. The guy looked decent in his pictures, and his profile didn't make him sound like a total douche. Fueled by ice cream, desperation, and two glasses of wine, I threw caution to the wind and shot him a message. Don't really remember what I said, but I'm sure it was something stupid and cheesy. Like:

"Hey, hot stuff. What's cookin'?"

To my surprise, he answered back pretty quickly, even though it was absurdly late. We wound up messaging back and forth all night. By dawn, we'd exchanged numbers and I was totally smitten.

Victor was everything I could have hoped for in a partner. He was tall, blond, and rugged, with these amazing green eyes that caught the light like polished emeralds. Not only was he smoking hot, but he spoke five languages fluently - English, Spanish, French, Italian, and Mandarin. He was crazy smart and cultured, well-versed in art, music, and cuisine of all kinds. He played tennis, volleyball, and baseball for fun, and he was the MVP of his high school and college football teams (both kinds). Victor was French-Canadian, but he'd immigrated to New York after college and established himself as editor-in-chief of a prominent publishing house. I was so scared to meet in person, because there was no way a man this perfect could really exist... but he did, and he was. My god, he was.

The year we dated was a living, breathing dream. He absolutely spoiled me with home-cooked meals, spur-of-the-moment vacations to Mexico and the Caribbean, and the occasional "just because" bouquet delivered to my workplace. Despite his success, Victor was quite humble and very shy, politely declining every time I asked him to meet my friends and parents. I respected his wishes without question, even though it became very annoying convincing my loved ones that he wasn't made up at family gatherings. Frankly, I didn't care if they believed me or not. They were just jealous that I had met the most perfect man in the world, and that I had him all to myself. Every last bit of him.

Around Christmas, I kept hinting - rather aggressively in hindsight - that I wanted our relationship to go to the next level. Victor didn't seem to be on the same page, though, so I tried to be patient. I mean, we weren't even living together at that point, nor had I seen the inside of his apartment. Like I said, he was shy. When we went out to dinner on Christmas Eve, I felt like I might be wearing him down. I'll never forget that night as long as I live, because it was probably the best night of my entire life. When I awoke the next morning, I was alone in my apartment. There was no cutesy little hand-written note, no voicemail, not even a text. He was just... gone.

A week later, one of my girlfriends at work sent me a link to an online news article. It was about a car accident that happened upstate, with only one casualty. The victim wasn't named, but the man's general description fit Victor to a "T". To be sure, I looked him up online by name, and stumbled across his obituary. I don't remember much else about that day, except that I'd never cried so much in my life.

Losing Victor was a blow I never really got over. I mean, how do you move on to someone else after you've had a taste of perfection? Dating lost all appeal after I lost him... but Fate left me with a very special silver lining. At a routine check-up with my doctor in early February, I found out I was pregnant. On September 3rd, I brought our daughter - Victoria - into the world, and she was the spitting image of her father. My only regret was that this perfect little baby would never know the man who made her. Still, I cherished her deeply, as the last piece of Victor I had left.

The first eighteen months of Victoria's life was a wonderful struggle that I would gladly go through all over again. It was difficult, adjusting to life as a new mom - especially since I was flying solo - but we got by okay, I think. I made sure to give her everything I could, or as much as my diminished part-time salary would allow. Some sacrifices had to be made, like moving to a smaller apartment and tightening my belt big time, but one smile from Victoria made it all worth it.

When I took her for a walk through the park one summer's evening, I stopped dead in my tracks at a young family walking toward us. For a moment, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me... but I knew the father's face in an instant. My heart was racing with joy, and I could already feel the tears forming in my eyes.

"Victor?" I gasped.

Victor turned his head with a jolt, freezing in place automatically. He'd grown a beard since I last saw him, but it was definitely him. His green eyes grew wide with shock and dread, his face draining of all color. I expected him to say something - anything - but he just stared at me like a deer caught in the headlights of a semi truck.

The woman with him - a pretty, copper-haired thing - moved the little blond boy she was holding from her right hip to her left, staring up at Victor quizzically. "Who's Victor? Maurice, Honey, do you know this woman?" she asked innocently.

As I waited for his response, I took another look at the kids they were walking with. The oldest was a little girl - all blonde hair and green eyes just like Victoria - maybe six or seven years old. She held onto his fingers and twirled around at his side, showing no interest in me whatsoever. After the little boy in the woman's arms - who was all of three years old - the youngest golden-haired child between them was still an infant, strapped in a carrier on Victor's chest.

Victor - or whatever his name really was - still said nothing. Hell, he wouldn't even look me in the face. My hands tightened around my stroller handle until my knuckles popped, if only to keep me from clobbering the jerk where he stood. I loved him with all my heart and soul. I mourned him. I was still mourning him. There were no words to describe the betrayal and anger I felt in that moment.

I didn't give him the satisfaction of letting him know how hurt and angry I was. Instead, I forced all my painful emotions down and sealed them away tightly, leveling an icy but calm gaze at my former lover. "Sorry," I said quietly. "My mistake. Have a nice day."

The woman watched me leave, still looking very confused, before casting an accusatory glance at her partner. It made me wonder if I was the first strange woman to approach her husband in the park. Odds were, I wouldn't be the last. When I had left him in my dust, I finally let the first of my tears fall, being careful that my daughter didn't see them. "Come on, Baby," I muttered. "Let's go get some ice cream."