My Fiancé Hid His Wife Until I Was Pregnant

Diana Cho cornered me after the bridesmaid dinner. The restaurant had cleared out—Megan and Sarah left together, laughing about something I hadn't heard—and Diana stayed. She sat across from me at the empty table, still holding her wine glass, and just looked at me.

"What?" I said. I tried to smile.

"You tell me," she said.

I straightened a fork on the tablecloth. Lined it up with the edge of my plate. "I don't know what you mean."

"Aviana." Her voice was quiet. Careful. "I've known you since sophomore year. I know what you look like when you're happy. And I know what you look like when you're pretending."

I felt something tighten in my chest. I kept my eyes on the fork. "I'm just tired. The planning has been—"

"Is everything okay with Killian?"

My hand stopped moving. I looked up at her. She was watching me the way she always did when she thought I was lying. That steady, patient look that said she would wait as long as it took for the truth.

I opened my mouth. The words were right there. He has a wife. I'm pregnant. My mother is dying. I'm walking toward an altar built on a lie and I don't know how to stop. But if I said them out loud, they would become real. And I couldn't make them real. Not yet. Not when my mother had two weeks left and this was the only thing holding her here.

I closed my mouth. I laughed. It sounded thin even to me. "Diana, I'm fine. Really. It's just been a lot. You know how weddings are."

She didn't look convinced. She set down her wine glass and leaned forward. "If something's wrong, you can tell me. You know that, right?"

"I know." I reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "I promise. Everything's fine."

She held my gaze for another long moment. Then she nodded slowly. "Okay," she said. "But I'm here. If you need me."

"I know," I said again.

She left. I sat alone at the table for twenty minutes after she was gone. I didn't move. I just sat there, feeling the weight of everything I hadn't said, and understanding that I could never let it slip again. Not to Diana. Not to anyone. Because the moment I said it out loud, the whole thing would collapse. And I couldn't let it collapse. Not until my mother had seen what she needed to see.

I straightened the fork one more time. Then I stood up and walked out.

The morning of the wedding, I woke up at five. I hadn't slept. I'd been lying in the dark, staring at the ceiling, counting hours. The venue was booked. The flowers were arranged. Three hundred guests had confirmed. My dress was hanging in the bridal suite. Everything was ready.

I got up. I showered. I put on the robe the bridesmaids had given me—white silk with "Bride" embroidered on the back in gold thread. I looked at myself in the mirror. My face looked pale. Hollow. I put on makeup to fix it.

My mother arrived at the venue at seven. I heard her voice in the hallway before I saw her. Quiet. Steady. She was talking to someone—maybe the coordinator—giving instructions about something. She sounded exactly like herself. Like she wasn't dying. Like this was just a normal day.

The door opened. She stepped inside. She was wearing the dress she'd chosen two months ago—pale blue, carefully pressed, with a delicate beaded collar. She had lost more weight since the fitting. The dress hung a little loose at the shoulders. But she stood straight. She refused the arm the coordinator offered and walked to me on her own.

She stopped in front of me. She looked at me for a long moment. Then she reached up and cupped my face in both hands. Her palms were warm. Soft. I felt the slight tremor in her fingers.

"You look exactly the way I always imagined," she said softly.

I felt something crack inside my chest. I covered her hands with mine and held them against my cheeks. I memorized the warmth of them. The weight. The way her thumbs brushed gently across my cheekbones. I knew, with absolute certainty, that this was the last private moment we would ever have. Just the two of us. Before everything shattered.

"I love you, Mom," I whispered.

"I love you too, baby." Her eyes were bright. She smiled. "Now let's get you married."

She stepped back. She smoothed the front of her dress. She turned toward the door, and I watched her walk out into the hallway, moving carefully, her head held high.

I stood alone in the bridal suite. The dress was behind me. The veil was laid out on the chair. In three hours, I would walk down an aisle toward a man who had lied to me for six years. I would stand in front of three hundred people and pretend everything was fine. I would do it because my mother was dying and this was the only thing she wanted.

I pressed my hands together to stop them from shaking.

Then I turned around and started getting ready.