Eight Years Wasted She Chose Him the Night Before Our Wedding

My eyes went wide. I couldn't believe these words had come from the woman I'd loved for years.

But then I remembered—she was already Graham's wife.

And once I accepted that, nothing she said or did could surprise me anymore.

I was leaving anyway. Might as well grant her this one last thing.

"Fine."

Maybe it was how readily I agreed that finally snapped Carrie out of her tunnel vision.

She noticed, at last, that the shattered frame on the floor held our wedding portrait.

She noticed the blood smeared across the top of my foot.

Her eyes reddened instantly, and she rushed back into the bedroom to grab a first-aid kit.

The moment she was gone, Graham lifted his chin, his expression dripping with provocation.

"Wilfred, you really are pathetic. You knew I was already Carrie's husband, and you still tried to go through with a wedding?"

"So what if her mother doesn't like me? She can object all she wants. She still had to watch Carrie marry me."

"Tomorrow's ceremony? That'll be mine. And Carrie will only ever be my woman."

"You? You'll just be the homewrecker everyone spits on."

"And don't kid yourself into thinking she'll divorce me in three years and come running to you, because..."

He leaned in close, his grin insufferably smug.

"The baby in her belly is the product of our night together."

I dropped my gaze, hiding the tears that surged up without warning.

So it was true. Carrie had betrayed me.

And she'd treated me like a fool, stringing me along for another three years.

I did the math. The baby would have been conceived the night she never came home.

That was the first time she'd ever forgotten my birthday. She said she was out entertaining clients.

The next morning, she came back full of apologies.

And then she told me we should get married.

She said she wanted to give me a fairy-tale wedding.

I'd waited eight years to hear those words.

The joy was so overwhelming it crushed every doubt in my chest.

But that evening, she forgot to lock the bathroom door. When I walked in, I saw the scratches across her back.

Fresh scratches. I demanded to know what happened.

She answered without missing a beat—a cat had scratched her.

She even pulled up her rabies vaccination record as proof.

I forced myself to believe it.

But my gut told me something was wrong. Even while I was planning our wedding, none of it felt real.

A voice inside me kept whispering: The only reason she finally agreed to marry you is because she's trying to make up for what she did behind your back.

I buried my head in the sand. I didn't dare look for proof.

But I couldn't let it go, either. So I started following her in secret.

When I discovered that her so-called client meetings were actually visits to Graham's apartment, I stopped pushing. I waited for her to come clean on her own.

That was why I didn't press her when she skipped the rehearsal.

That was why I said nothing when she texted me about getting a marriage license with Graham.

"Excuse me."

I had no interest in wasting words on Graham. I just wanted to leave.

But the second Carrie stepped out of the bedroom with the first-aid kit, he grabbed my hand.

"Wilfred, I know you don't like me, but why did you push me?"

Carrie lunged forward, but her foot caught on something and her whole body pitched backward.

Instinct took over. I reached for her. But Graham lurched toward her as if I'd shoved him, slamming into Carrie with full force.

"My stomach... oh God, my stomach... it hurts..."

Carrie hit the floor flat on her back, her face twisted in agony.

Graham landed on top of her, clutching his groin and sucking air through his teeth.

I stood frozen, unable to comprehend why Graham would hurt Carrie.

Before I could get a single word out, he was already scrambling to his feet, his face a mask of panic and concern.

"Carrie, I'm so sorry! Don't be scared. I'm taking you to the hospital right now."

Gritting through the pain, he scooped her into his arms and bolted for the door.