The Tattoo That Started the End

Gareth's POV

When I pulled Derek’s hand off my eyes, I saw that Marjorie and Silas were still on that bench, kissing like no one else existed.

My hands trembled as I called Marjorie. Once, twice, three times.

Yet, she ignored every ring, as if she couldn’t hear it.

Only when she picked her phone back up later did she finally see my text.

[Marjorie, since you’re busy today, I came to the amusement park with my buddy instead.]

The moment she read it, she shot to her feet, looking around in panic. But Silas grabbed her hand and dragged her off to the rollercoaster. That was when I finally stepped out from behind the trees.

All afternoon, I watched them, riding the carousel side by side, sharing a Ferris wheel cabin, and smiling when it stopped at the very top.

And all afternoon, I was holding her spare phone in my pocket, so I saw their plans for a “private wedding” in the group chat. Hundreds of wedding dresses were sent into it, asking their friends to vote.

Yet those same women who used to flatter and softly call me didn't say a word to me about this.

I had always believed Marjorie wasn’t into wedding details. Because back then, I planned everything myself, from the venue to the gowns and rehearsals. Even at the rehearsal dinner, I practiced my vows to an empty hall while she claimed she was too busy with work.

When my mom complained, I even defended her, saying, “Not every woman enjoys this stuff.”

But that night, she and Silas walked into the city’s best restaurant, and Derek and I sat at the table right behind them.

After they ordered food, Marjorie texted me, attaching a string of photos.

[A friend of mine is getting married. Since you’re good at planning weddings, can you help pick out a suit for him?]

I scrolled through hundreds of pictures and deliberately picked the same suit I had loved before, the one Marjorie once told me looked awful.

Her reply came quickly.

[My husband’s taste is always perfect. My friend loves it.]

Shortly after, a new message popped up in my work chat.

[Boss: This weekend, there’s a small private wedding at the church. The bride wants someone experienced to plan. Anyone available?]

Quickly, I typed back, [I’ll take it.]

The following days, Marjorie acted like nothing had changed. She still left me with little surprises, still playing the part of a doting wife.

But I wasn’t blind. Most of the gifts were cheap leftovers. Obviously, the real, expensive ones went to Silas.

They looked like a couple in the honeymoon phase. Quarreling out of habit, but sweeter than ever.

Excited, Silas openly bragged on his social media, posting, [If I make the first move, what chance does he have?]

He never named me, but everyone knew who he meant.

Still, I pretended not to notice. Instead, I focused on planning that wedding.

When everything was finally in place, Marjorie came to me with a guilty smile. “Gareth, I have to travel out of town this weekend. I’ll have to cancel on you again.”

She then leaned in to kiss me, but I turned my face without a word.

And that rattled her.

“Honey, next week. I swear, next week I’ll spend it all with you.”

I gave a small nod, and she sighed in relief.

When I offered to drive her, she refused and then climbed straight into Silas’s car.

Days went by, and it was finally Saturday.

I counted the auspicious hour, then drove with Derek to the church. I oversaw the ceremony remotely, making sure every detail was perfect.

But I didn’t stop there.

I also invited every one of Marjorie’s clients, her colleagues, and her relatives.

So when the groom pulled up with his bride, the two of them froze at the sight of a packed hall. They thought they had walked into the wrong wedding.

Then one of Marjorie’s so-called best friends wrinkled her nose and barked, “What’s wrong with you people? Crashing someone else’s wedding like you’re lining up for free eggs? Get out!”

And that was when she saw Marjorie stepping out of the car arm-in-arm with Silas. Her face went pale on the spot.

Right then, I stepped out of the crowd, holding Marjorie’s father’s memorial photo, and pressed the remote.

When the display on the projector changed, the look on Silas’s face, so carefully composed, instantly shattered.

“What is this?!” he roared.