My Boyfriend Stole My Mother's Last Goodbye to Play Groom for His First Love

CHARLOTTE'S POV

I got back to the Bayside apartment a little after seven in the morning, with the hospital's notice of my mother's death in a manila folder pressed against my chest.

The hospital had printed a copy for me before I left. I'd held it on my lap the whole bus ride back, like it might blow away if I loosened my grip.

Gabriel was in the kitchen pouring coffee into a paper to-go cup. His navy tux jacket hung over the back of a dining chair, the gold anchor pin still on the lapel. On the table sat a bundle of white roses wrapped in satin ribbon, a few loose petals scattered across the wood.

Wedding leftovers. He'd brought them home.

Three years ago, during one of Mom's hospital stays, Gabriel had sat with me on a plastic bench in a hospital corridor until the sun came up. I'd been shaking, and he'd taken off his coat and wrapped it around me without a word. He'd smelled like garlic and the restaurant's fryer, and I had never loved anyone more.

Now he looked up, took in my swollen eyes and my wet hair, and frowned.

"Where were you last night? You didn't come home."

I walked to the table and set the folder down beside his coffee cup. I opened it so the notice faced him.

"My mother died last night," I said. "Where were you?"

He looked down at the page. For a second, something moved across his face. Then he put the coffee pot back on the burner, slowly, like he was buying time.

"Char. God. I'm sorry." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't know it was that bad."

"I told you it was that bad. On the voicemail."

"Okay, listen. Last night was a mess." He leaned against the counter. "Audrey's fiancé bailed. He just didn't show up. She fell apart in front of two hundred people. Her dad was yelling, her mom was crying, and somebody had to step in."

"So you married her."

"It wasn't a marriage." He said it like I was being ridiculous. "Nothing was signed. No license. It was symbolic, just so she didn't have to walk out of there humiliated. It meant nothing."

"Then why didn't you answer my calls? I called you seventeen times."

"It was loud. Music, people everywhere. I honestly didn't notice until it was late."

I pulled out my phone and opened my call log. I scrolled to the top of last night's list and turned the screen toward him.

"Those first two. One ring each, then voicemail." I held it closer. "Did you decline them?"

His hand tightened around the paper cup. The rim folded in, and coffee slopped over his knuckles. He didn't seem to notice.

"I was handling a problem," he said. "The DJ quit, the officiant was gone, the caterer wanted to leave. I was putting out fires, Charlotte. I saw your name and figured I'd call back in five minutes."

"Five minutes," I said. "She was awake at 8:10. She asked for me."

He didn't answer. His eyes slid to the table, where a cream-colored card had fallen out of his jacket pocket. A wedding sign-in card, his name written across it in his own blocky handwriting, right under Audrey's.

I thought about every night he'd left a dinner early because Audrey's car had broken down, or Audrey's landlord was being a creep, or Audrey just needed someone to talk to. Every time, I'd told myself he was a good friend. A good man who couldn't say no to people who were hurting.

I didn't tell myself that now.

"You didn't miss my calls, Gabriel," I said. "You chose not to answer them."

Behind me, a key turned in the front door.

I knew that sound. I'd left an extra key in Gabriel's desk when we moved in, for a neighbor to use in emergencies. Audrey walked in like she lived there, a red phone case in one hand and her hair still pinned up from last night. Her dress was gone, but a strip of white wedding ribbon was still tied around the waist of her jeans, the ends trailing.

"Morning," she said, bright, then saw me and stopped. "Oh. Charlotte. You're home."

"You have a key," I said.

"Gabe gave it to me ages ago. In case of emergencies." She smiled at him. "I brought the video from the ceremony. My cousin got the whole thing. Gabe, you have to see it. I know it wasn't official, but honestly? It was more romantic than half the real weddings I've been to."

"My mother was dying," I said. "Did you know that?"

Audrey blinked at me.

"He got my calls. He saw my name. You were standing right next to him." My voice was rising, and I let it. "Did you know?"

Her lower lip pulled in. Her eyes went shiny and wide, and she turned toward Gabriel like I'd shoved her.

"I didn't know it was that serious," she said softly. "He said it could wait. I'm so sorry, Charlotte. I really am." She held the red phone out to him. "I'll just... here. I didn't mean to make things worse."

He took it. He didn't look at me.

The video was already playing. I could see it from where I stood. White roses. A swell of strings. Gabriel standing under the arch, holding her hands, looking down at her.

"I do," his recorded voice said.

Then he kissed her, and the room on the screen burst into applause.

Gabriel watched the whole thing. When it ended, he handed the phone back to her gently, the way you'd hand someone something fragile.

He didn't ask her to delete it. He didn't tell her to give back the key.

He looked at me instead, his jaw tight.

"Did you have to do this right now? She's had the worst twenty-four hours of her life."

I actually laughed. It came out cracked and ugly.

"Her worst twenty-four hours."

"Audrey needed me more than you did." He said it flatly, like it was obvious. "Your mother had doctors. She had nobody."

Audrey looked down at the floor, but I saw the corner of her mouth.

I didn't say anything. I went to the hall cabinet, opened the top drawer, and took out a small velvet box. I came back and set it on the table in front of him, right next to the death notice.

He'd shown me this box two Christmases ago. He'd told me his grandmother's ring belonged in it, and that someday he'd get down on one knee and do it right.

I flipped the lid open. It was empty.

"I figured I should give this back," I said. "Since the ring's already been used."

Audrey's hand drifted behind her back.

Gabriel came around the table and reached for my wrist. "Char. Come on. Stop. You're going to throw away six years over a wedding that wasn't even real?"

I pulled my arm free.

"The wedding didn't end this," I said. "My mother woke up for two minutes last night. Two minutes, Gabriel. She asked if I was there yet. I wasn't, because I was stuck at a bus station after you ignored my calls. That's what ended it. Your silence ended it."

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

"She got your wedding vows," I said. "My mother got your voicemail."

My old canvas travel bag was still by the door, half-packed from my trip to Ashford. I picked it up and put the strap over my shoulder. It was frayed at one end, the bag Mom had bought me for college. I'd almost thrown it out last spring.

"Charlotte, don't walk out that door," Gabriel said. "We'll talk about this when you're calmer."

My phone buzzed in my hand.

A banking alert slid down from the top of the screen. Joint Checking: Insufficient funds for upcoming scheduled payment.

I stared at it. The restaurant's rent was due from that account today. So was Mom's last hospital bill, the one I'd set to autopay two weeks ago.

There should have been more than enough. I'd deposited my paycheck there myself.

I tapped the notification and opened the transaction history.

Near the top, from last night, sat a single outgoing transfer.

-$24,600.00.

I looked up at Gabriel. He'd gone very still.

I looked back down and opened the details. The transfer memo was right there, typed out in plain black letters.

Audrey Bellamy, Wedding Expense Advance.