Chapter 2

His hand hadn't even touched me before I stepped back.

"Ethan, do you really think I care about how grand the wedding is?"

His lips pressed into a thin line. No answer.

Of course he didn't know.

All these years—he forgot our anniversary, and I made excuses for him.

He left me alone in the ER to comfort Sophie because she said she was "scared," and I never blamed him.

Every time I forgave him, it wasn't because the hurt didn't sting.

It was because I loved him.

I turned and walked away.

Ethan chased me off the stage and grabbed my wrist hard.

"I'll be there on time next week."

"Don't destroy seven years over something this small."

The bones in my wrist ached under his grip.

I lowered my head and pried his fingers off. One by one.

"The one who destroyed it—is you."

I shoved open the banquet hall doors.

A few seconds later, the wedding march started up again.

Through the heavy doors, I heard the emcee announce that the ceremony would continue.

Ethan didn't follow.

He chose Sophie. Again.

Behind me, cheers erupted—congratulating the couple on their kiss.

Late that night.

He came back to our apartment reeking of alcohol and tossed his suit jacket into my arms.

"Iron it."

"I'm wearing it to our wedding next week."

The white collar was smeared with Sophie's lipstick. The cuffs still smelled like champagne.

I reached into the pocket. A hotel key card slid out and clattered to the floor.

Ethan bent down and snatched it up. His expression shifted.

"Sophie was drunk. I got the room so I could keep an eye on her."

"Don't overthink it."

His phone suddenly blared with a voice message.

Sophie's breathy, honeyed voice filled the living room.

"Ethan, why'd you leave so early?"

"Our wedding night isn't over yet."

Ethan killed the phone instantly and explained for her.

"She was wasted."

"Don't take it to heart."

On the living room wall hung our photo together.

In it, he was hugging me from behind, eyes crinkled with a smile.

Back then we were crammed into a tiny rented apartment. Couldn't even afford a decent ring.

But he said having me was enough.

Now the apartment was bigger. The rings were more expensive.

The man in that photo was gone forever.

I set up the ironing board.

Steam drifted across Ethan's face.

"Next week—will you actually show up?"

He thought I'd caved. He wrapped his arms around me from behind.

"I promised I'd marry you. When have I ever broken that promise?"

His embrace was still warm.

But his cuffs carried another woman's perfume.

Late into the night, Ethan fell into a heavy sleep.

I hung the freshly ironed suit in a garment bag and set it by the bed.

Then I pulled out a suitcase and took my clothes off the hangers. One by one.

The next morning, I called the wedding planner.

"The wedding next week goes ahead as planned."

I stared at my solitary reflection in the glass.

My voice was steady.

"Change the groom."