The Longing Too Late

By the tenth engagement party, Samantha Moore stood me up again.

I called her to ask what happened. What I didn't realize was that my phone was still connected to the banquet hall speakers.

A second later, the entire room went dead silent.

Soft, breathless moans spilled through the sound system.

Then Samantha's voice came on, shaky and uneven. "Caleb... my department planned a team hike today. We're almost at the top. About the engagement party... let's just do it another time. I have to go."

She hung up.

For a moment, nobody moved. Then the room erupted into chaos.

Gasps, whispers, and a few harsh laughs filled the banquet hall. Some people did not even bother hiding their amusement. Even the servers were glancing at me as if I were nothing more than a pathetic joke.

I had proposed to Samantha ninety-nine times before she finally said yes, and yet she had never once shown up to our engagement party—not once.

I stood there quietly, took the engagement ring from my pocket, and dropped it into the fish tank beside the stage.

After seven years of waiting, forgiving, and making excuses for her, I finally understood the truth.

I had mistaken my patience for love, and she had mistaken my love for permission to hurt me.

I used to believe that if I loved her enough, she would eventually choose me. Instead, every time I lowered myself for her, she only pushed the line further.

This was the tenth time she had humiliated me in front of everyone, and it would be the last.

From that day on, she was no longer part of my future.

The Last No-Show

Because Samantha never showed up, the engagement party ended in awkward silence and unbearable humiliation.

I returned the engagement gifts one by one to the guests as they left. When I reached my aunt, Linda Hayes, she shoved her gift back into my hands as if it had burned her.

"Just keep it," she said, her face pale with anger. "But don't you dare send me another invitation next time."

Then her voice began to shake.

"Caleb, I mean it. Don't drag my name into this mess again. I can't keep showing up just to watch people laugh at you—and at me."

After my parents died in a car accident six years ago, Linda became one of my few remaining family members.

She used to pity me. She used to defend me.

But after watching me turn myself into a public joke again and again, even she had finally reached her limit.

And honestly, so had I.

After the last guest left and the ballroom was nearly empty, I stayed behind to clean up the mess. A server walked over carrying a black trash bag.

"Mr. Hayes," he said carefully, "I couldn't find a bag that fit, so I had to put all the letters in here."

He glanced at the heavy bag in his hand before asking, "Do you want to take them with you, or should we keep them here for the next engagement party?"

I put out the cigarette between my fingers and stared at the swollen trash bag with exhausted eyes.

Inside were the ninety-nine love letters I had written to Samantha while I was pursuing her.

According to the original plan, those letters were supposed to fall from the ceiling during the final part of the ceremony, drifting down over the stage like confetti. It was meant to be romantic.

Now they were stuffed inside a garbage bag.

I gave a tired laugh and shook my head. "Since they're already in a trash bag, just throw them out with the rest of the garbage."

The server froze for a second, then nodded.

I had nothing else to say.

People always said, "Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me." However, Samantha had stood me up at our own engagement party ten times.

When I called her in a panic to ask where she was, she did not even seem to remember what time the party was supposed to start. Instead, she tried to cover herself with some ridiculous story about a work hiking trip.

The moment the call connected, those filthy sounds poured through the ballroom speakers. I heard a man on the other end, breathing heavily and groaning without the slightest concern for who might hear.

And even then, Samantha had the nerve to tell me she was "almost at the summit."

She would never understand what it was like to stand on that stage with all eyes fixed on me, feeling the shame of that silence and the cruelty behind the laughter people desperately tried to conceal.

She was the one who agreed to marry me. She had even helped choose the invitations. Yet somehow, I was the only one left to carry the humiliation.

Before I left the hotel, I heard a few servers whispering behind me.

"Do you think something's wrong with him?" one of them said with a laugh. "Maybe there was never even a fiancee. I mean, who pays a cancellation fee ten times for an engagement party that never happens?"

Another one snorted. "Hey, don't be mean. His fiancee was busy hiking, remember? I just want to know what kind of mountain she was climbing, because from the sound of it, she was having a great time."