Eight Years of Love, Deleted Like Trash

He was holding his temper down.

"Are you out of your mind? All these people here, and you have to make a scene like this?"

I looked at him.

"So you do know there are people here?"

Sheila spoke up at once.

"Sally, I'm sorry, this is all my fault. I twisted my ankle, and Eugene was just taking me to the hospital."

I looked at her foot.

"Minor soft-tissue bruising. Doctor recommended a cold compress and observation."

I opened my phone and put the screenshot of her ER chart up on the screen.

"Eugene sat with you through two hours of icing that ankle, and missed his own rehearsal dinner for it."

Sheila's lips trembled.

Eugene frowned.

"She was alone at the hospital. I couldn't just leave her."

I nodded.

"Then go on looking after her."

I slid the engagement ring off my finger and set it in the tray beside me.

"I'm not marrying him."

Sarah rushed over.

"Sally, what nonsense is this? The invitations are out, the venue's paid for—where does that leave the James family's face?"

I looked at her.

"Ma'am, your son's face already played out on that screen just now."

Her fingers shook with anger.

"It's perfectly normal for a man to have someone he can't quite let go of before the wedding. Blowing it up on a big screen—that's you with no sense of proportion!"

I laughed.

"So you knew."

Sarah choked on the word.

I went on.

"You knew he had someone he couldn't let go of, and you still wanted me to marry him. Did you think I was easygoing, or did you think my father was easy to push around?"

My father stood up, his face like iron.

"The James family cares about face. My family, the Sullivans, don't?"

Eugene finally panicked.

"Sir, it's not like that."

My father didn't look at him.

"Don't call me sir."

Eugene's face went white for a moment.

I pulled the USB drive out of the player. He thought it was over; his shoulders visibly eased.

I looked at him and smiled.

"What are you in such a hurry for?"

He froze.

Then I took out a second USB drive.

"What just played was how you loved her."

"This next part is how she taught me to swallow it."

The color drained from Sheila's face.

"Sally—"

I pressed play, and a voice message popped up on the big screen.

Sheila's soft voice filled the banquet hall.

"Sally, you know what? Eugene says a woman like you is the best kind to marry, because you don't need any coddling."

When that message finished, the hall went so quiet you could hear the hum of electricity.

Sheila stood in the doorway, tears on her face, unable to get out a single word.

She used to love sending me voice messages.

Because she knew I wouldn't dare make a scene, and knew I couldn't bear to put Eugene in a hard spot.

She thought I'd endure it forever. But she forgot that endurance has an expiration date too.

I opened the second one.

"Sally, stop always asking him whether he loves you. Men hate that most. Eugene says you can handle everything yourself, not like me, I fall apart without him."

The third one.

"It's your birthday today? Sorry, I didn't know. But I'm really in a bad way right now, and he says you're mature, you won't hold it against me."

The fourth one.

"Don't blame him for not going to the hospital. He says you're very strong, it's just signing a form, don't make yourself out to be so pitiful."

My father's hand clenched hard.

I didn't look at him. I was afraid one glance would break me.

That year, with the stomach bleed, I was in so much pain I couldn't straighten up. The nurse handed me the consent form and told me to notify my family.

I called Eugene. He didn't pick up. Later he texted back one line:

"Sheila's up on the rooftop. Don't add to the trouble."

I signed the form alone, my hand shaking so hard I had to write my name twice before it came out clearly.

That night I thought: if I died on the operating table, Eugene wouldn't find out until the next day.