Three Years Too Late My Fiancé's Secret

His blood dripped onto my face, one drop after another, but he held me as if he couldn't feel a thing, still trying to soothe me.

"Sarah, don't be scared. I'm here."

I sobbed and tried to push him off, tried to make him go, and he wouldn't budge.

It wasn't until he'd been beaten half to death that someone finally called the police.

When the sirens started, the men scattered.

I held Harry, soaked in blood, my hands shaking so hard I could barely keep pressure on the wound.

He looked at me through half-open eyes, and his lips moved.

"It's all right now... Sarah."

I didn't know when the tears had started. By the time I noticed, my whole face was wet.

I lifted my head slowly, looked at the Harry standing at the foot of the bed, and the words came out before I could stop them.

"Harry. How did you turn into this?"

The thermos slipped out of his hand and hit the floor with a dull thud, soup splashing out, soaking the cuffs of his pants and the floor.

He froze, then dropped into a crouch and scrambled to clean it up, fumbling at it for a while and getting nowhere, until he just kicked the thermos aside.

"Sarah, how can you say that?"

"I haven't changed..."

He came toward me, his voice unsteady.

"I've always loved you. I did before, I do now, and I always will."

Then something seemed to occur to him, and he went on.

"Is it... is it because the baby's gone, and now you feel insecure?"

He reached out and pulled me into his arms.

"Sarah, let's get married. All right?"

Before I could get a word out, he let go and hurried for the door.

"Sarah, wait for me. I'm going to set up the venue. I'm going to give you a wedding you'll never forget."

Watching that door close again, I felt a strange flicker of absurdity.

He seemed so certain that no matter what happened, it had to be him.

When Leonora heard we were getting married, she offered to design the invitations and decorate the bridal suite.

Harry frowned but didn't refuse. He only said, "Be careful. Don't get anything wrong."

For all his reminding, the last step still went sideways.

When the invitations reached my hands, the line for the bride read, clear as day: Leonora Simmons.

"I'm so sorry, Sarah. I really didn't mean to..."

"The studio said they mixed up the template, and I didn't check it carefully. It's my fault. It's all my fault."

The wedding was too close to reprint them.

She came over carefully, took out a pen, and gently crossed out the name Leonora Simmons, then wrote in Sarah James, one stroke at a time.

"There, that fixes it," Leonora said, handing me the invitation. "Not pretty, I know, but better than not being able to use them at all."

Harry glanced at the invitation in my hand, his brow drawn tight, and it was a long moment before he spoke.

"Be more careful next time."

I forced a faint smile. Harry, there isn't going to be a next time for us.

On the wedding day, Harry stood on the stage in a black suit, watching the doors of the church.

But an hour passed, then two, and those doors never opened.

The guests began to murmur, and his face darkened, little by little.

"Harry, is it the invitation? Is Sarah upset about that?"

He frowned, a thread of impatience in his voice.

"You didn't do it on purpose. And anyway, Sarah isn't like that."

Two more hours passed, and Harry finally couldn't stand there any longer. He stepped down off the stage and started calling me.

The line just kept ringing through to nothing.

At the stroke of noon, the church doors finally swung open.

Every head turned at once, only to find a handful of uniformed staff walking in.

Their faces gave away nothing. They said not a word, simply moving down the aisle to hand fresh invitations to every guest.

Harry Henson stood rooted in place, brow drawn tight, unable to make sense of any of it.

Someone opened an invitation, glanced down, and watched their expression curdle into something strange.

"The bride's name on this. Wasn't it supposed to be Sarah James? Why does it say Leonora Simmons?"

Harry froze. It took him a long moment to surface.

"What is this supposed to mean?"

The lead staff member gave a faint smile.

"No need to worry, Mr. Henson. Miss James has also prepared a wedding gift for you and Miss Simmons."

The words had barely left his mouth when the wide screen at the front of the church flared to life.

The instant Harry saw it, his blood ran cold.