From Wedding Vows to Goodbye

Dragging my weary body back to the new apartment, I found an email with Candace's flight information. The timing was just perfect—ten days from now, on the morning of our wedding.

I looked up at the small robot on the wall, its cheerful face staring back at me. The large numbers on its display weren't just a countdown to our wedding anymore; they had become a countdown to my departure.

It seemed almost fated.

When Ethan returned, I was wrapping the bandages on my hand. The sight of my injuries made his eyes flicker with something akin to guilt. He sighed deeply, crouching in front of me to gently remove the old bandages and clean the wounds with iodine.

"You know," he said, his voice tinged with frustration, "I’ve been good to Lily partly because of you. All these years, you’ve struggled with your parents. Now, as we’re about to get married, you don’t have any family to attend, no friends to speak of, and even your bridesmaids are nowhere to be found."

I bit my lip, silent.

Ethan knew me better than anyone. He knew the countless betrayals I had suffered, the heartbreak my parents had inflicted by favoring Lily over me. He had witnessed the destruction of my trust and the severance of our family bonds. When I cut ties with my parents, Ethan had been supportive.

It wasn’t that I lacked friends; he knew that, too. But most of them were now married with their own lives. And here I was, waiting year after year for him to achieve his goals, and now, on the brink of turning thirty, he was the one complaining.

The boy who once held me and promised, "As long as you have me, that's enough," had long since been swallowed by the tides of time.

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my hand. I reflexively pulled it back, but Ethan wouldn’t let go. He gave me a reproachful look, gently tugged my hand back, and blew on the wound.

"At your age, you can’t handle this little pain? Just imagine how you’d cope without me," he said, his voice a mix of concern and exasperation.

I watched him, struggling to believe in the sincerity of his actions. Were all those years of tenderness and care merely a performance? Had I been the only one truly invested in this role?

“I wanted to ask,” I said softly, “why did you change your clothes? What happened to your evening dress?”

“It got ruined, so I threw it away,” he replied casually.

I had no desire to continue the conversation, but Ethan seemed oblivious to my silence, chattering more than usual. He tossed the used cotton swabs into the trash, packed away the first aid kit, and continued his lecture.

“I’ve already apologized to Lily for tonight’s incident. In the future, think before you speak. Stop clinging to the past.”

I watched him clean up the first aid kit, a bitter smile curling on my lips.

"Ethan, there won’t be a future for us."

"What?"

He turned, sensing something was amiss, but all he saw was me fiddling with my phone, avoiding his gaze.

In the bedroom, the empty half-wall seemed especially stark. I picked up the discarded piece of lingerie from the bed and tossed it under the bed. Even so, the bed felt filthy, tainted by the memory of their intimate moments.

My stomach churned, and I couldn’t hold it in—I vomited onto the bed.

Ethan emerged from the bathroom and, seeing the mess, frowned.

"What’s this? When someone’s unwell, they use a trash can or a toilet, not a bed.”

Seeing my pale face, he softened his tone.

“Looks like we’ll have to find a new place to sleep tonight.”

As he opened the closet to find new bedding, he accidentally knocked a picture frame off the shelf. It shattered on the floor.

Ethan, looking guilty, picked up the pieces and tried to explain.

“The frame fell. I was afraid it would break, so I took it down. Didn’t expect to drop it anyway. Just make sure the nails are secure when you hang it back up.”

I gave a noncommittal response, taking the duvet from him and heading to the guest room.

Ethan rubbed his nose and resignedly began tidying up the room.