Eight Years as His Second Choice

He spotted the suitcase in my hand and froze. "Where are you going?"

I didn't look up. I zipped the suitcase shut.

"Home."

He crossed the room, snatched the suitcase from my grip, and shoved it into the corner.

His voice softened. "Stop this. You're an orphan, Tabitha. Where else would you even go?"

"I know you're upset about the wedding yesterday, but weddings are just for show. Once we officially register our marriage, that's when we'll really be husband and wife."

I almost laughed.

The longest relationship among any of my friends lasted five years before they got their marriage certificate. Hudson and I had been together for eight, and I couldn't even get a piece of paper.

I was an orphan. He'd promised to give me a home. Eight years I'd waited for that home.

Every time I hinted at registering, he'd find a hundred excuses not to go. The one time he actually agreed, I sat at the civil affairs bureau from opening until close, and he showed up at the last minute.

I clutched our number ticket and begged the clerk to wait just a little longer. Then he told me he'd forgotten his ID.

I think that was the last time I ever brought it up.

Now, suddenly, I wanted to test him one final time.

"Fine. Then let's go register today. If we do, I'll let the wedding go."

His expression changed instantly.

"Tabitha, it's not that I won't register with you. It's just that Jean only just got back. If you push this now, I'm afraid she'll... I'm worried she might do something to herself."

"Once she's had time to settle down, I'll go. I swear—"

"Forget it." I cut him off. I'd just remembered my ID was still in the safe. I turned to get it.

The moment I pulled it out, Hudson grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet. I lost my balance and hit the floor.

He reached down to help me up, but when his hand was inches from mine, he saw the ID card clutched in my fingers. His hand pulled back.

His voice went cold.

"What exactly do you want from me, Tabitha? It's not like I said I wouldn't marry you. Why do you have to push me like this?"

"I already explained—everything Jean said yesterday was a joke."

"We're just friends now. Nothing more."

"Just friends?" I picked myself up off the floor. The back of my hand had caught the corner of the safe, and blood dripped onto the hardwood. It stung.

A dense, prickling pain burrowed its way into my chest.

But I'd been hurt so many times that even this didn't feel like much anymore.

"Since when do 'just friends' have zero boundaries? She wrecked my wedding, then spent the entire night alone with my fiancé behind closed doors."

Hudson pressed his lips together. He sighed, pulled me into his arms, and softened his tone to something coaxing.

"Come on. I swear, nothing happened last night."

"And I already talked to Jean. I told her there's no chance for us anymore."

"The only reason I ran after her was to find out why she disappeared eight years ago without a word. I just wanted an answer. I couldn't let it go."

"I told you—even with Jean back, I'm not going to be with her. You're the one who matters most to me."

I was so sick of hearing those words.

Eight years. Every single time he had to choose, I was the one who got left behind.

On my birthday, he heard Jean had been spotted at the airport. He abandoned me alone on a mountaintop and rushed to find her.

When I was sick, he heard Jean had caught a virus overseas and couldn't get the right medication. He mailed her the last bottle of fever reducer we had in the house.

I burned with that same virus for seven days and seven nights. I nearly died.

Every single one of our anniversaries, he prepared two gifts. One for Jean. One for me.

Because every anniversary of ours lined up perfectly with every milestone he'd once shared with her.