My Fiancé Postponed Our Wedding for His Ex

The kitchen smelled wrong.

I stood in the doorway of my own brownstone, staring at the rearranged cabinets. The coffee mugs I'd kept by the stove for six years were now above the sink. The spice rack I'd organized alphabetically was shuffled into chaos.

Camille appeared behind me, drying her hands on a towel. "Oh God, I'm so sorry. I was trying to help this morning and I just—I reorganized everything without thinking. It's the medication. It makes me forget what's mine and what's..." She pressed her fingers to her temples. "I'll put it all back. I'm so sorry, Elsie."

She said my name like it hurt her.

Vance walked in, saw her distress, saw my face. "It's fine," he said quickly. "Els, it's fine. She was trying to help."

I looked at the mugs above the sink. "Sure."

Camille touched Vance's arm. A whisper, just loud enough. "She's angry. I understand. I would be too."

Vance's jaw tightened. He looked at me like I was the problem.

I walked out.

---

Two days later, I found my favorite silk blouse in the dryer. Ruined. Shrunk to child-size, the fabric puckered and destroyed.

Camille stood in the laundry room doorway, hand over her mouth. "Oh no. Oh no, I thought it was mine. Elsie, I'm so sorry. I keep forgetting which clothes are whose. The doctor said this would happen—confusion, memory gaps—but I didn't think..."

Her eyes filled with tears.

Vance appeared again. Always appearing. "Hey, it's okay. It's just a shirt."

Just a shirt. The one I'd worn on our first trip to Paris. The one I'd been saving to wear again on our honeymoon.

I held the ruined silk in my hands and said nothing.

Camille left the room crying softly.

Vance stayed. "She feels terrible, Els. She's trying so hard."

"I know," I said.

He waited for more. I didn't give it to him.

---

Every morning, I found Camille's pill bottles on the bathroom counter. Orange prescription bottles with labels I couldn't quite read from the doorway. She always left them open, caps off, a glass of water beside them.

Vance saw them too. I watched his face each time—the tightening around his eyes, the guilt settling deeper.

One morning, Camille caught me staring at the bottles. She smiled sadly. "I hate that you have to see this. All my... deterioration. It must be so uncomfortable for you."

"It's fine," I said.

She touched my arm. Her hand was cold. "You're kind to say that. But I can feel it, you know. The resentment. I would feel it too, if I were you. Some dying woman moving into your home, taking your fiancé's attention..." She shook her head. "I told Vance I should leave. But he insists."

She walked away before I could respond.

That night, Vance asked me if I was okay.

"Why wouldn't I be?" I said.

He hesitated. "Camille mentioned you might be struggling with... all of this."

I looked at him for a long time. "Did she."

"She understands, Els. She doesn't blame you."

I turned back to the book I wasn't reading. "How generous."

---

Noemi started crying whenever I entered a room.

Not loud wailing. Soft, hiccupping sobs that made her seem smaller than she was. She'd bury her face in Camille's neck and peek out at me with wide, frightened eyes.

Camille would stroke her hair and murmur comfort. Never accusing. Never pointing. Just soothing her daughter while Vance watched.

One evening at dinner, Noemi reached across the table and grabbed food off my plate. I moved the plate gently out of reach. "Noemi, we don't take food from other people's plates. You can ask if you want more."

The little girl's face crumpled. She turned to Vance, lip trembling. "The lady scares me," she whispered.

Vance's head snapped toward me. "Els. She's three."

"I know how old she is."

"Then maybe don't talk to her like she's an adult."

I set my fork down carefully. "I was teaching her manners."

"You were harsh."

Camille reached over and squeezed Vance's hand. Said nothing. Didn't need to.

I looked at their joined hands. At Noemi's performance of fear. At Vance's face, which used to look at me with trust and now looked at me with concern.

I stood up. "Excuse me."

I left my plate on the table and walked upstairs.

Behind me, I heard Camille's soft voice. "She's under so much stress. I shouldn't have come. This is too much for her."

Vance murmured something I couldn't hear.

I locked myself in the guest bathroom and pressed a towel between my legs. Still bleeding. Still losing something I couldn't name out loud.

---

I tried one more time.

Late at night, when Camille had taken Noemi upstairs to bed, I found Vance in his study. He looked up from his laptop, surprised.

"We need to talk," I said.

He closed the laptop. "Okay."

I sat down across from him. My hands were shaking. I pressed them flat on my thighs. "I found footage. From the penthouse. Before you postponed the wedding."

His expression didn't change. "What footage."

"Security cameras. You and Camille. In our bed."

Silence.

"And Noemi," I continued. "She's not scared of me, Vance. She's been coached. She performs fear when you're watching and stops the second you're not. I've seen it."

Vance leaned back in his chair. His face was unreadable. "Els."

"I'm not jealous. I'm not irrational. I'm telling you what I saw."

"Camille warned me you might do this."

The words hit like a slap.

"She said the stress of the postponement and her being here might make you... see things that aren't there. She said you might start making accusations."

"I'm not making accusations. I'm showing you evidence."

"Evidence of what? That I comforted someone who's dying? That a three-year-old is scared in a house where she doesn't feel welcome?"

"Vance."

"I think you should consider talking to someone, Els. A therapist. This level of suspicion isn't healthy."

I stared at him. At the man I'd planned to marry. The man whose child I'd lost on a staircase three weeks ago.

I stood up slowly.

"Els, I'm saying this because I love you—"

"Don't," I said quietly.

I walked out of the study.

He didn't follow me.

I went upstairs, locked the bedroom door, and called my brother.

Brendan answered immediately. "What happened."

"I need you to move faster," I whispered. "Whatever you're doing. I need you to move faster."

"I'm already moving, Elsie. Victor's got everything. We're just waiting for the right moment."

"I don't know how much longer I can stay here."

"You won't have to. I promise. Just a few more days."

I pressed my hand against my stomach. Empty now. Nothing left to protect.

"Okay," I said.

I hung up and lay down on the bed in the dark.

Downstairs, I heard Camille's soft laughter. Vance's responding murmur.

I closed my eyes and waited for morning.