Ten Years Waiting, Only to Receive His Wedding Invitation

The waiting was unbearable.

Though only a day had passed, it felt like I had endured a century.

On the morning of Nancy’s wedding, I woke early and applied my makeup with meticulous care. My reflection in the mirror was poised, perfect, yet somehow hollow.

As I chose my jewelry, my gaze landed on a small box tucked in the corner.

Inside it was the jade bracelet.

Bryson had given it to me when I graduated from college, saying it was a family heirloom passed down to his family’s daughter-in-law. He’d even gone so far as to ask his mother for it.

For years, I wore it every day, believing it meant something unshakable. Three years ago, I tucked it away, just like everything else about him.

And now he was marrying someone else.

I slipped the bracelet onto my wrist, the cool jade pressing against my skin like a quiet reminder of what was and what could never be.

Would he even remember this piece of jewelry? Would he ask for it back to place it on Nancy’s wrist at the wedding?

The thought sent a chill through me, but I forced a smile as I stared at my reflection. I couldn’t let myself look ugly today. Not at Bryson’s wedding.

The venue was breathtaking, meticulously arranged—a scene straight out of a dream. The thought of how much care and effort had been put into this celebration stung.

I lightly stroked the jade bracelet, grounding myself in its cool texture, as if it could anchor me to the moment.

None of the guests were familiar faces.

Had Bryson really only invited me from his past?

He’d cut off his old friends so cleanly. He's so heartless. It was almost impressive.

I slipped into a quiet corner and sat down, my thoughts drifting to how our encounter might unfold.

Would he approach me with his bride on his arm, smiling as if we were nothing more than acquaintances?

Or would he avoid me entirely, too ashamed to meet my gaze?

The mental scenarios made me chuckle bitterly. My laughter was soft, self-mocking, yet it carried the weight of something heavier—something unspoken.

But then a voice broke through my haze.

“Sienna.”

I jolted, my body stiffening as I blinked rapidly to hide the sting in my eyes.

When I turned, there she was—Nancy.

She was radiant, holding the hem of her wedding dress as she walked toward me, her face adorned with a smile that felt both genuine and calculated.

“It’s really you!” she said, her tone tinged with surprise. “I thought you wouldn’t come.”

I straightened my back and met her gaze, refusing to let myself falter.

With a steady smile, I replied, “Of course, I wouldn’t miss your wedding.”

Nancy’s gaze swept over me, lingering when her eyes fell on my wrist.

Her smile faltered, freezing for a moment, and then something strange flickered in her expression.

"Is that from Bryson?" she asked, her tone was almost too casual.

I instinctively stroked the jade bracelet, but the satisfaction I expected to feel never came.

So, she knew about it too. That could only mean one thing—they had been close enough to share even these small details.

It seems they were truly in love.

Her smile faded completely, replaced by a shadow of something darker. Her eyes turned somber, a hint of accusation simmering beneath the surface.

"It seems," she said quietly, "that the person he wanted to marry the most was you."

I inhaled sharply, my chest tightening. Her words echoed in my mind, heavy with the weight of a truth I had tried to bury.

"But now," I replied, keeping my voice even, "he’s marrying you."

The statement felt like a final nail in a coffin I had been constructing for years.

“By the way,” I continued, forcing a neutral tone, “where is the groom? I don’t see him anywhere.”

I tried to say the word groom lightly, as if it didn’t make my heart pound with restless anticipation.

Nancy’s lips curved into a smile, her earlier gloom replaced with smug satisfaction.

"He’s with his friends," she replied, her voice brimming with joy that I couldn’t quite share.

Then her gaze sharpened. "What about you? Didn’t your boyfriend or husband come with you?"

Her words were a dagger. My pulse quickened, but I steadied my expression, keeping the smile on my face intact.

"He’s busy," I said smoothly, my voice light. "Besides, I didn’t want him to come—I was worried he’d get jealous."

Nancy let out a small laugh, one laced with regretful condescension.

"It seems you’re doing well," she said. "Only Bryson was foolish enough to waste his time."

Her words stung, but before I could respond, she shifted her stance, gathering the hem of her gown as if ready to leave.

I wasn’t done.

"Where’s Bryson?" I pressed, my voice calm but firm. "Why hasn’t he come to see me?"

This was the entire reason I’d come—to see him. If I left without that, the trip would feel meaningless.

Nancy’s face twisted with anger, her glare cutting.

"You already have someone else," she snapped. "What right do you have to ask for him? What right do you even have to say his name?"

Her words hit me like a slap. I froze, momentarily stunned by the ferocity of her reaction.

"He doesn’t dare to come, does he?" I said quietly, more to myself than to her.

Nancy let out a bitter, sarcastic laugh, her voice trembling. "Yes, he doesn’t dare. Are you satisfied now?"

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and the sight startled me. She had everything she wanted, yet she was crying. Why?

And Bryson… if he could send me an invitation, why couldn’t he face me? The thought made me clench my fists in frustration.

It was absurd.

I stepped forward, my resolve hardening. "I want to see him. Where is he?"

But before I could press further, Nancy broke down completely.

She burst into tears, her voice trembling with raw, unfiltered anguish.

"He’s already dead!" she cried, her words cutting through me like ice. "How could he possibly see you?"