She Stole My Fiancé Days Before My Wedding

When I came to, my parents were already at my bedside, worry etched all over their faces. "Owen mentioned you've been running yourself ragged with the wedding prep, which is why you fainted," my mom said softly. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

My parents are in their sixties now, gray streaking through their hair. They both have chronic health issues—even a short flight of stairs leaves them winded. I managed a weak smile. "I'm fine. I've got it handled."

Owen cracked open the window to let in some fresh air and placed a plate of freshly cut pears on the nightstand. His voice was calm, almost soothing. "Davina, Esme just woke up. She needs her rest. I'll drive you home now, and once she's feeling better, we'll come back for a visit." He caught my gaze for just a fraction of a second before looking away, closing the door quietly behind them.

My students were blowing up the group chat, saying they wanted to come see me. After sending them my location, I sank back into the cold, unwelcoming hospital bed. I've always had poor circulation—my hands and feet stay icy no matter the season. Every night, I used to warm them against Owen's stomach. I can't pinpoint when he started coming home later and later—maybe six months ago. Maybe longer. It didn't matter anymore. I'd gotten used to the comfort of a hot water bottle, and I no longer needed him.

Cecilia lingered at the back of the student group, clutching a bouquet. Someone nudged her forward. "Go on, Cecilia! You're Esme's favorite student—seeing you will totally lift her spirits and speed up her recovery."

She hesitated, then stepped forward to set the flowers on the table. "Professor Robertson, get well soon."

It was a bouquet of white lilies. I'd seen them in Owen's online order history. I thought he'd planned to give them to me on our wedding day because they matched my dress perfectly. As soon as they left, I threw the flowers in the trash. I didn't want anything that wasn't truly mine.

I stood by the window, taking deep breaths, when I spotted Cecilia alone at the hospital entrance. Owen showed up shortly after. She practically leapt into his arms, rising on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He smiled, pulling her closer and kissing her back.

A sharp cramp twisted through my stomach. I doubled over beside the trash can, retching until there was nothing left but bile. Owen walked in just as I was straightening up.

"Why did you throw away the flowers?" he asked, reaching to help me up. "I went out to get your favorite stew. Have some—it'll settle your stomach."

I pulled away from his touch. "Don't. We're done."

"Since when did I agree to a breakup?"

"So what's your plan? Juggle two women? Spend Monday, Wednesday, and Friday with her, Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday with me, and use the leftover day for your so-called friends?"

Irritation crept into his voice, edged with anger. "Esme, you're being completely unreasonable!"

"Then what's your solution, Owen?"

He took a deep breath. "I'll try to end things with her—focus on us. We've been together for nine years. I know what matters."

I dumped the steaming stew into the trash can. "Try? So there's a chance you'll fail and end up right back in her arms?"

Owen growled in frustration. "Esme! Why do you have to be so aggressive? Everything I say sets you off!"

While he yelled at me, I found myself drifting. For nine years, he'd never raised his voice at me. No matter how rough life got, even mashed potatoes tasted like heaven. Now, even with an actual feast set before me, everything tasted like nothing.

Owen slammed the door on his way out. I flinched. I've always been jumpy—easily startled by loud noises, ever since I could remember. He knew that. But he'd forgotten. Again.

I logged onto the university forum and, under an anonymous account, posted the photo of their embrace.