I’m writing this from the couch where we took our last “date night” photo. The pillows are still perfectly fluffed, the fairy lights still twinkling. The only thing missing is her. Maya and I got married right out of college. We were that couple—the ones who posted matching Halloween costumes, sunset beach kisses, and artfully plated avocado toasts. I thought our 50K followers proved we were #RelationshipGoals. Turns out, they were just proof I’d confused likes for love. Every moment became content. I’d interrupt our hikes to adjust the camera angle. We’d redo pancake breakfasts until the syrup drizzle looked “authentic.” Once, after a screaming fight about my workaholism, I made her pose for a selfie mid-tears. “Just say you’re crying happy tears!” I joked. She didn’t laugh. She begged me to put the phone away. “Can we just be for once?” I’d roll my eyes. “Babe, this is how we pay for trips to Bali!” But the trips were just backdrops. I didn’t notice her wandering alone on the beach while I edited Reels. Then, she started “forgetting” to smile in photos. Her captions grew shorter: “Here.” “Whatever.” Followers DM’d me: “Is Maya okay?” I shrugged it off. “She’s just moody.” The night she left, I was too busy staging a candlelit dinner (hashtag #MarriedLife) to taste the food. She sat silently, staring at her ring. “I filed for divorce today,” she said, as I adjusted the lighting. I laughed. “Good one! Tilt your head a little—” She stood up, her chair screeching. “I’m not a prop, Alex. I’m a person. And I’m gone.” The door slammed. I posted the photo anyway. “Date night with my crazy girl 😜❤️” For weeks, I pretended she was “traveling.” Posted throwbacks, recycled old captions. Then her sister commented: “Stop lying. She’s been gone for months.” I deleted the app. Yesterday, I found her old laptop. In a folder titled “REAL US”: Screenshots of my DMs flirting with influencers (“just networking!”). A video of me yelling at her to “act happier” during our anniversary shoot. A draft post she never sent: “Married the love of my life. Too bad he married his phone.” The last file was a selfie of her, makeup-free in sweatpants, smiling on a park bench. The caption: “First solo day in years. I forgot what peace felt like.” I’ve watched it 100 times. It’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever posted. I’m sharing this because we’re all chasing validation in the wrong places. If your partner’s smile feels staged, ask why. If you’re crafting captions instead of conversations, log off. Love isn’t a filter—it’s the messy, unposed moments you’ll never post. TL;DR: Prioritized Instagram perfection over my wife’s heart. Now I’m the punchline of my own hashtag. — A recovering influencer (Share if you’ve ever confused followers for love. And if you’re reading this while editing a couples’ selfie… put. The. Phone. Down.)